Concerned
by Simon920
Summary: Dick is suspected of being an abused child. The authorities react. Note: With some apologies this is actually a nine chapter story posted in one shot. Sorry, but that's the way it was saved on my computer. Hey, it happens, y'know?


Title: Concerned Part 1

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Someone noticed that Dick is often bruised and suspects child abuse

Warnings: None

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

"**Concerned"**

"Mr. Grayson."

"Mr. Grayson."

"Mr. Grayson?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Grayson. Am I interrupting something more important to you this morning than learning all there is to know about the end of the Civil War?"

Dick turned his head back from where he'd been staring out the window to look at Mr. Weidman. The man wasn't a bad guy, he wasn't even a half bad teacher but this just wasn't the day for it. Dick managed polite, that was about the best he could hope right now. Concentration on history wasn't an option.

"I'm sorry."

The man softened a little as he stood next to Dick, seemingly answering some question for himself as he regarded the boy. "We were talking about the effects of Lincoln's assignation on Reconstruction." Normally he would ream out anyone he even suspected of not paying full attention to whatever they were supposed to be thinking about that day but after a moment he simply walked back to the front of the classroom and directed his attention elsewhere for the rest of the period. Thank God. "Miss Conners, would you please enlighten us about the economic ramifications of"

The voices droned on in the background and the students who had been looking over at Dick with mild interest returned either to their own daydreams or the teacher's lecture. Sitting in the hard, straight-backed chair, Dick was trying to find a comfortable position but wasn't having much success.

His back was killing him almost as much as his ribs were. He'd been out patrolling with Bruce last night as usual but somehow Dick's hands had slipped slightly on the rope causing him to misjudge a landing and he'd ended up slamming against a brick chimney instead of landing beside the thing. He was sure that at least two, maybe three of his ribs had broken and his back was a solid mass of bruising and scrapes. Somehow Bruce hadn't noticed and he'd been able to hide how much it was hurting on the way back to the cave. Barely.

This morning he'd showered, taped himself as well as he could and made sure to wait until he'd heard Bruce leave for the office before coming downstairs, purposely late so that he could get out quick before Alfred caught on. Dick was trying to just soldier on, but he was in some serious pain here. Sitting without moving or leaning against anything was doing a number on his back as well and he could feel every muscle tightening up and beginning to cramp. It hurt to breathe and he knew he should—at the least—be home in bed. In fact he should probably be in a hospital or Leslie's clinic or someplace.

Shit.

Finally, finally, after another half hour the bell rang and Dick wondered how he was going to stand up, let alone make it to his next class. He could barely move and it was going to be pretty much impossible to carry this off all day long. Gym was going to be a bitch.

Damn.

But if he'd stayed home that morning Bruce would have found out that his ribs had been broken last night. He would have insisted that Dr. Leslie check him, tape him up and she would have made him miss a few days of school and since he'd already missed fifteen days since the start of the year he couldn't afford any more. He'd be risking summer school and Bruce would be major pissed, all the summer plans would have to be scrapped and Dick would be to blame.

He'd had no choice; he'd had to come to school no matter how crappy he felt. Now if he could just figure out how to stand up and walk with no one being the wiser.

The students filed out of the room, leaving Tom Weidman along with the Grayson kid. He'd been watching the boy all period and it was a no brainer that the kid was in some serious pain. It could have been the result of a sports injury or a fall off a moped or something along those lines. It was possible that he'd been in a fight or—and this was the one he was concerned about—someone might have done this to him on purpose.

Grayson was a smart kid, a good student and wasn't a troublemaker but something about the boy was 'off', not right. He lived in some kind of broken home for one thing and Tom had noticed that he had a 'guardian' instead of parents listed in his records. Well that wasn't necessarily anything, but and he'd missed a lot of school this year. He didn't seem to have a lot of friends, kept to himself a lot. He seemed friendly enough when you talked to him, just didn't mix with any crowd.

There could be a lot of explanations for that but the one Tom kept coming up with, the one that seemed to fit, was that someone was beating the hell out of the kid—and regularly—and the kid was like a lot of abused kids who tried to keep the secret. Dick seemed to have a lot of bruises and more sprains than most kids. The boy came to class with black eyes and taped knuckles every few months. He was defensive and withdrawn when Tom had tried to draw him into any kind of personal conversation. Dick was always polite enough, but he never gave out any information about his home life and that was enough to make Tom suspicious.

And Dick often seemed tired a lot, too, like he wasn't getting enough sleep for some reason.

If he was hiding something, maybe it was something that should be brought out for the child's sake. He sat in the seat beside the young man; all the other students had left. They were alone together.

"You alright?"

Dick was slowly closing his backpack, almost ready to leave for his next class. "Fine." He just sat, seeming to gather his strength, tried to stand and swayed back into his chair.

Tom just watched, saw the way his face went white with pain. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. Someone do this to you, son?"

Dick's head whipped around, the vivid blue eyes staring a challenge to the man. "No one did anything to me. I just twisted my back in gym yesterday. It's nothing. I'm OK." His voice was quiet, almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

"There's blood coming through your shirt."

Damn scrapes must have opened again. "It's nothing. I told you, I'm fine."

The teacher reached across the narrow aisle and carefully lifted the hem of Dick's blue tee shirt until the rib tapes were uncovered, now stained with the seeping blood. "That looks like it hurts."

"I'm fine. I told you, I just hurt myself in gym yesterday. It'll be OK in a day or two, I'll just take it easy and it'll"

"Dick, look, um, when I was in school my father had this really bad temper. He'd have a bad day at work or someone would cut him off driving home or something and he'd need to take it out on someone. One night he broke my arm in three places and would have done more if my brother hadn't laid him out for me."

Cripes, he thought Bruce or someone was hitting him. "âIt's nothing like that. I mean, I'm sorry that you had a shitty family, but it's not like that for me."

"Come down to the nurse's office. We'll get some fresh bandages on that."

"I can't—I have to get to class. I'm late." He forced himself to stand, hiding the grimace of pain. "It's nothing like what you think. Honest." He started toward the door. "I know you're trying to help, but it's fine. I'm really OK. I don't need any help, I don't need the nurse. I really don't."

"Dick—if you need, if you want to talk to anyone—you can call me. Here or at home, it doesn't matter. You can call me anytime."

"I gotta go."

Tom followed him out the door and touched his arm. "Come with me." He opened the door to the teacher's lounge two doors down from the classroom they'd just left.

"I'm late for class."

"I'll write you a note." There was no one else in the cramped lounge; all the teacher's were elsewhere at the moment. He sat Dick on a stool next to the small sink. "Take off your shirt." Getting out a first aid kit he quickly cleaned off the seeping scrapes, wiped them gently with antescptic and covered them with enough bandages to stop the blood. Going to his small locker he took out a clean navy blue button down shirt and slipped it over Dick's arms, helping him with the buttons.

"You call me, day or night, you hear me?"

"It's not what you think. It isn't. I was just clumsy. That's the truth."

Weidman nodded. It was obvious he didn't believe a word of it. "I'll write that note for you."

After Dick had left Tom went down to the nurse's office, Mrs. Metzger was having a cup of tea at her desk.

"You look like you have something on your mind, cuppa tea help?"

"Sure, thanks." She handed it to him black. The woman didn't believe in sugar or cream, just the purity of the steeped leaf itself.

"Soâ?"

"You know the Grayson kid?"

"Dark hair, smart, junior class?"

"That one, you know him at all?"

"Not all that well, no. He's been in a couple of times for an aspirin or something, nothing major. Well, come to think of it, he had the flu a few months ago and said that there was no one home to get him so he ended up taking a nap here for a couple of hours. Why do you ask?"

He sipped his tea. Damn the woman made it strong. "I have a suspicion that he may have a problem."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I think he's either being bullied pretty badly by someone or he's being abused at home and I lean toward home."

"That's a serious charge, do you have anything to base it on?"

"He's often injured—sprains, bruises, that sort of thing. There was a black eye a couple of months ago—and this morning he was roughed up enough that he could hardly get to class. I tried to talk to him about it, but he pretty much closed up, insisted that he'd hurt himself in gym yesterday. You know, the usual evasions."

"You want me to follow up on this, Tom?"

He finished his tea, he had meeting in a minutes. "Yeah, I do, but tread lightly, OK? He's running scared from something and I don't want him to bolt. Don't ask him directly, at least not yet and I'll get Carl to watch him during Phys Ed, see if he notices anything." He got up to go. "Do you know anything about his home life?"

She shrugged. No, not really. The boy wasn't a troublemaker and didn't have any kind of chronic condition she needed to watch, she hadn't had any reason to really go through his records but would now. "I'll see what I can find out."

"Thanks. Later."

Dick had managed to get through the day by taking too many Advils, but gym was going to be a real test of mind over body. He had gym last period and he noticed the teacher, Carl Seyfert, wandering through the locker room when they were changing and that he'd stopped to talk to Jim Collins at the end of the row while actually trying to cop a look at Dick's back.

Shit.

He'd turned his back to the wall, but from the expression on Seyfert's face, he'd caught enough of a glimpse to bug his eyes out. He shouted at the boys to move out but stood blocking Dick when the room had emptied. "You feeling alright, son?" Seyfert had never called him 'son' in the two and a half years Dick had been in his classes. If he ever had reason to call him anything it was always 'Grayson' and usually he'd just point. He even touched his arm to keep him where he was after everyone else had walked out to the gym.

"Fine."

"You having a problem with someone in school?" He was talking with his head down so the other kids wouldn't hear. "You cross someone you shouldn't have?"

Dick sighed. Damnit, Bruce would be pissed if anything got out about—well, about anything. "Mr. Weidman asked you to check me out, didn't he? I told him that I'm fine; I'm just clumsy sometimes. That's all. It's no big deal. I hurt my back myself with no one's help." He was keeping his voice down as well as the teacher. No reason to broadcast anything.

"You don't strike me as a klutz. You want to tell me how it happened?"

Christ. "I slipped and fell. Honest, that's all that happened." Sort of. On a rooftop at three in the morning while patrolling with Batman.

They walked into the gym office. "You see a doctor?"

"No need. It's nothing."

Seyfert called out the locker room door, "Hey, Jim." The assistant football coach was doing something on the sidelines out in the main gym. "Take my class for a few minutes, will you?"

"Sure, Carl."

He took Dick's arm, "Every single one of your teachers today have noticed that you're moving like you're hurt so I want to make sure you're really as alright as you say you are." He steered Dick back towards his locker. "Take your shirt off so I can see for myself.

Dick was stuck. If he refused they'd call in the principal or someone and if he took his shirt off he was screwed.

"What is this, a strip search?"

"C'mon, son, you know that we're just concerned about you. If you want I'll call another teacher in here as a witness."

He was trapped and he knew it. As carefully as he could he lifted the tee shirt over his head and turned around so the teacher could see the bandages.

"That's enough, get dressed in your street clothes."

"Why, what are you going to do? I told you, I just tripped, for Chrissake. No one hit me, no one beat me up and no one is out to get me, OK? I just frigging tripped."

Seyfert handed him the gym shirt he'd just taken off, the one he'd been wearing for about five minutes. There was blood on it already. "How old are you, Dick?"

"Fifteen. Why?"

The man didn't answer, just nodded in dismissal. "Why don't you just finish out the period in study hall?"

An hour later, just as the students were leaving for the day, the two teachers, Weidman, Seyfert along with the nurse were in the principal's office discussing their suspicions about Dick Grayson.

"You know that by law I have to call this in to DYFS immediately. After that they decide what to do. It's out of our hands." (Note: this stands for Division of Youth and Family Services and is pronounced Dye-fuss)

"For God's sake, Bill, you should have seen the kid's back—it looked like someone used him like for a punching bag."

"Carl?"

"He's right, Bill. He showed all the classic abuse signs. He was defensive, angry, insisted that it was his own fault"

"Is that possible? Is it possible that he just fell down the stairs or something?"

"I've had this kid in gym class for almost three years now and I'd call it a long shot. He can move when he wants to. He doesn't seem interested in any of the sports we offer, but the kid is built like an athlete and he's pretty damn coordinated. I think someone did this to him."

"Mrs. Metzger? Do you have anything to add?"

"Well, the boy needs to be protected if there's a problem, of course, but you do all know who the system will be going up against, don't you? The Grayson boy is an orphan—I gather the poor thing actually saw his parents die right in front of him when he was around eight or nine—and Bruce Wayne took him in. He lives on that big estate about five miles from here."

"The one behind those big stone walls and the gates? Bruce Wayne, as in 'Bruce Wayne'?""

She nodded. "And Wayne is one of the richest men on the entire planet. He'll have a defense team and a publicity machine that will demolish anything that isn't airtight. If you want to make sure that boy is safe, it has to be a strong case or the state will lose and then God knows what will happen to that child."

"So"

"So make the call. If the kid is being abused we have to report it."

"And we all know that no one can know about this. Legally this is confidential until—or if—any charges are filed. Don't tell your families or any of the other staff. And don't say anything to the child."

"He knows that we've seen the injuries."

"Hell. Well, don't say anything else to him. Our hands are legally tied with this."

"He's a smart kid, he's bound to figure out that we have to do something."

"If he's being abused he'll probably thank us."

"And if he isn't?"

"Then that's a good thing."

"Let's hope Wayne thinks so."

"Let's hope Wayne doesn't get his jollies beating up kids."

"And if we're wrong, let's hope he's not into lawsuits."

"Master Bruce, there's a Ms. Clarke calling for you from DYFS. She says it's a matter of some importance."

"DYFS?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is Wayne, how can I help you?"

The voice on the other end of the receiver was as cold as his own could be. "Are you available this evening, Mr. Wayne?"

"Available for what?"

"I'd like to interview you, if you'd agree to it. I can be there in five minutes, I'm just outside your gate."

"Usually interviews are arranged through my office, Ms Clarke, if you'd like to call in the morning I'm sure that we can arrange"

"Thank you, no. I'd prefer to meet with you now, if I could."

"âRegardingâ?"

"I'll be happy to explain it to you in person, Mr. Wayne, but I strongly suggest that you see me."

A social worker wanted to see him now? Hell, that meant something about Dick and it meant that there was some kind of trouble or they'd have called during business hours and met him at his convenience.

Bureaucrats. It was always best to try not to antagonize them.

"In that case, come in. Follow the drive to the main house."

She was a woman of her word. Inside of five minutes—less, actually—she was ringing the bell. Alfred showed her into the study and Bruce rose to greet her, offering the usual pleasantries. She declined coffee or tea.

"I'd prefer just getting down to business, if you don't mind."

"What business do you have with me, Ms. Clarke?"

"Is Richard home?"

"He's up in his room doing homework, did you wish to see him?"

"In a little while, yes, until then he can just stay where he is." Bruce was annoyed at the woman's attitude, coming into his home and telling him where his son could be was a bit much. "I have to tell you that I'm here to look into a suspicion that your ward might be living in an abusive situation. I'd like to speak first with you, look through your home here to make sure that it's appropriate for a child to live in and then talk to Richard privately. Are you willing for me to do this?"

Of all the possible things she could have said to Bruce, suggesting that Dick was being abused in some way was probably the most outlandish thing she could have come up with.

"Might I ask who has suggested something this absurd?"

"If I find reason for an investigation you'll be allowed to know who made the report, until then it's privileged information."

Bruce just stared at her. Jesus. Dick an abused child? What bullshit. "And if I decline to answer your questions or ask to have my lawyer present?"

"That's your right, of course, but in that event I would be forced to remove Richard immediately to prevent any possible injury to the minor."

"Ask anything you wish, Ms. Clarke. Please be seated." They sat in the two leather club chairs on either side of the lit fireplace. It crackled softly in the background.

"First of all, may I ask who was the gentlemen who answered the door? I gather he's some sort of servant?"

"Alfred Pennyworth has been with the Wayne's since before I was born. He's family."

"And Rickard is an orphan you brought into your home shortly after the deaths of his parents seven years ago, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And before that time, you didn't know the boy? You weren't a relative or a family friend of some kind?"

"I first met Dick the night his parents were killed. I happened to be there when it happened and I went over to try to comfort the child."

She didn't seem impressed. "And what made you want to take him in, give him a home? He has relatives, doesn't he?"

"His family made it clear that they were either unwilling or unable to take him in. I did so because—obviously—I felt sorry for him and because my parents were also killed when I was young."

"You felt an affinity for the boy?"

"Yes."

"It seems that you managed to speed the process of foster guardianship quite a bit, according to what I've read. Money does tend to grease the wheels, doesn't it?" Her implication was insulting and Bruce was getting angry.

"I didn't buy Dick and I didn't bribe anyone to 'speed the process', as you put it. He was a traumatized child who needed a stable home as quickly as possible. Commissioner Gordon saw the same need I did and he personally delivered Dick here within a week of his parent's deaths. The paperwork was finalized about a year later."

"And do you feel that this is a suitable home for him? You're a single man with a reputation as—forgive me, Mr. Wayne—a busy man and one who is largely concerned with his own pleasure and social life. Do you think you're a suitable father figure for Richard in terms of being an example to him?"

Bitch. "Dick seems tome to be a generally happy and well rounded young man. And yes, I think I'm a good parental figure for him. He seems to be doing quite well."

She just gave him a level look. "It's been brought to our attention that Richard is often absent from school and that he often seems to be injured." She looked at her notes. "He's had numerous sprains, bruises, black eyes and the like over the last two and a half years he's attended Steadwell Academy. Could you explain to me how these injuries occurred?"

Christ. "Dick is an athletic you man. He works out in the gym we have down stairs daily. Sometimes he hurts himself there. He also skis, rides horses and is a generally active teenager. That's how he hurts himself."

She was writing in her notebook. It was disconcerting.

"He also worked as an aerialist with his parents—I assume you have in your notes that he was raised in a traveling circus. He's an accomplished acrobat and gymnast. He's continued his training in those fields and it's inevitable that he have an occasional injury."

"And you consider such activities acceptable?"

"The boy is talented and enjoys what he does. Yes, I consider it acceptable."

"Have you ever struck Richard?"

No, but I could strike you, bitch. "Of course not."

She checked her notes. "I have a report that you have struck him across the face at least once in public, Mr. Wayne, would you care to tell me about that incident? It was witnessed in the parking garage of Wayne Enterprises about six months ago."

That had happened on the anniversary of the Grayson's deaths, always a bad day.

Dick cut school, boosted the Porsche and went joy riding. Barry had caught up with him and driven Dick and the car to the office. Dick had sassed Bruce and Bruce had—it was true—backhanded him. He had also immediately apologized and Dick had promised never to pull a stunt like that again. He told the woman the bare bones of what had happened.

"Are there any other times you've struck him, Mr. Wayne?"

"No."

"Has Mr." She checked her notes, "Mr. Pennyworth ever struck or disciplined Richard?"

"Never."

"There are also reports that he has been sent to school when he was obviously ill and when the nurse tried to send him home was told—by Richard—that there was no one home because, and I'm quoting. 'Everyone is in Europe.' He ended up spending the day sleeping in the nurse's room. Could you comment on that?"

Hell and damnation. "Dick was left here once for two days because I was called to London on an emergency and Alfred—Mr. Pennyworth accompanied me. Friends were looking in on him and he had all the needed phone numbers. Dick is also a remarkably independent young man." Dick had insisted that he would be fine—which he was—and the entire JLA was aware that he was staying alone and making sure he was fine. He couldn't have hurt himself if he'd tried.

"Richard is fifteen and a minor, Mr. Wayne. May I speak with him now?"

It was apparent that she wasn't impressed so far. He stood and indicated that she was to follow him. They made their way quickly up the grand staircase and down the long hallways to Dick's closed door. They could hear the sounds of Springsteen coming through it. Bruce knocked and a few seconds later Dick opened it. He was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved Tee shirt that revealed the bruising on his arm that went up to his shoulder.

"I AM doing my homeworkâoh, sorry."

"How did you get that?" Bruce was looking at the injury. Damn kid, never told him when he was hurt.

"I slipped last night. It's nothing."

"Why didn't you tell me or Alfred?" So that's what this was about. Hell.

"I told you, it's nothing." Dick looked past Bruce to the social worker.

"Dick, this is Ms. Clarke, she'd like to speak with you privately. Just answer whatever she asks. I'll be downstairs." Bruce turned and left and the strange woman stood in the doorway.

"May I come in, Dick?"

He stepped aside and gestured her in and to a chair by his desk. There were several textbooks open there. He really had been doing his homework. He turned the music off.

"What do you want to talk to me about?"

She was looking around the room. Like the rest of the house it was a showplace, but this room was lived in, unlike the museum she'd been walked through. It was a typical teenager's room, although a particularly well appointed one with state of the art entertainment equipment, computer and flat screen TV.

She smiled at him just enough so that he was supposed to think that she was his friend. "This is quite a house, Richard. You seem to have just about everything anyone could need in here." She was taking in all the stuff in his room—the clothes, the electronics, the size of the suite he lived in. It was bigger than her apartment. "That's a nasty bruise you have on your arm, how did you get it?"

"You heard what I told Bruce, I tripped last night."

"Why didn't you tell him about it, or Mr. Pennyworth? It looks painful."

"It's nothing, just a bruise."

She also noticed how stiffly he was sitting. "Did you hit your ribs or your back when you tripped?"

"A little, I'm alright." This was a no-brainer and it wasn't like he'd never met a caseworker before. She might as well have had 'Child Welfare' tattooed on her forehead. "Someone thinks Bruce or someone is hitting me, right? He's not. No one is. I just tripped."

"Some people are concerned about you, we just want to make sure that you're not being harmed in any way." He didn't say anything. "Has Bruce ever hit you, Richard? For any reason?"

"No."

"I see." The boy was clearly lying. I have a report that Mr. Wayne slapped you a few months ago in public because you had cut school and taken one of his cars. Is that true, dear?"

He shrugged a 'yes'.

"Why did you cut that day?"

"âIt was a bad day, OK?" He was clearly uncomfortable with that.

So much for the happy picture Wayne had tried to paint for her. She changed the subject slightly. "Has Mr. Pennyworth ever struck you?"

"Alfred? God, no. Alf wouldn't hit a fly."

"Do you like Mr.âAlfred?"

"Of course I like him. Alfred is great."

"What were you doing when you tripped last night, Richard, would you tell me?"

No frigging chance in Hell. Think fast. "Last night I was working out in the gym and missed a catch on the high bar. It happens sometimes. It's no big deal."

"You like gymnastics, do you?"

This woman was getting on his last nerve, coming in here and asking questions that were none of her business. Pain in the ass. "You read my background, I was raised to be a circus flyer. I've been doing this stuff since I was three."

"Oh, yes, of course. That must have been exciting, traveling all over." She smiled again, trying to be his friend. "Do you ever see any of your real family, Richard? Are you on good terms with them?"

"Not since they tried to get control of the trust fund my parents left me. Well, except my grandfather. I see him when I can."

"You're close to him? Would you like to live with him, Richard?"

Dick went still, he knew where this was going. "Look, Msâ.Clarke? I want to stay where I am. I don't want anything to change. I want to stay with Bruce. He treats me just fine and so does Alfred. After my parents were killed he was the only one who gave enough of a rat's ass to give me a place to live and he's—he's good to me. Sure he's a little stern sometimes," Dick gave an inward laugh at that—sometimes? "But he cares about what happens to me. If you send in some report saying that I should be moved I'll petition the court for legal emancipation and just do what I want, so don't waste your time."

"Mr. Wayne has admitted to striking you, Richard and you tried to deny that it happened before you admitted it yourself. You're a very smart young man, you have to understand that neither of those things are acceptable under any circumstances."

They were on two different sides of the fence and this woman had obviously already made up her mind.

"You can't make me move."

"I have to do what I think is right to protect you, that's my job. I understand that your grandfather lives somewhere in Europe? That complicates things, but I understand that you'd rather be with someone you're close to and I'll do whatever I can to help you." She stood up, ready to leave. "You can trust me, Richard, all I want to do is help you."

"Then leave me alone." He walked with her down to the front door, still moving stiffly. "I told you, Bruce didn't do anything to me and he never has, other than take care of me and give me a home. I want to stay here with him and with Alfred. If you try to force me out, you'll lose because I'll fight as hard as Bruce will to keep me right here."

"I'm sorry, Richard." Opening the front door he saw the squad car from the local PD. It was just sitting there with two cops leaning against the fender. They walked up to where Dick and the woman were standing in the doorway. Bruce and Alfred had come into the entranceway when they'd heard the voices coming down the stairs. "Officers? Richard will be coming with us this evening. Mr. Pennyworth? Would you please gather enough of his clothing for a few days? Mr. Wayne, our office will contact you in the morning."

"Fuck you. No. I'm not doing this."

The two cops were standing between Dick and the door in case he bolted back inside. "C'mon, son, no one wants to hurt you, this is for your own good."

"Bruce! Stop them."

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sure that you'll call your lawyers and you can file a protest in the morning but this evening Richard is being removed from your home for his own safety."

"Bruce, this is bullshit—tell her!"

"Ms. Clarke, at least let the boy stay the night"

"With your resources, Mr. Wayne, what assurance would I have that either of you would still be here in the morning? He needs to come with us until we can finish a more complete investigation into his welfare."

Dick was near tears, pleading. "Bruce" The police each had one of his arms and were trying to lead him to their car.

"I'll get this settled, you know I will. Dick—go along with them tonight"

"No!"

"Go along with them for now, you know it's all garbage and we'll prove it. You know we will—you know that."

"But"

"We'll win this thing. I promise." Bruce gave him a small nod, telling him it would be alright. It would. Go along for now and it would be OK.

"Our office will be in contact with you, Mr. Wayne."

"And my office will be in contact with you, Ms. Clarke. You can take that to the bank."

TBC

7/25/04

Title: Concerned Part 2

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dick is removed from Wayne Manor

Warnings: None

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

This is self-betaed. Mistakes, large and small are mine, all mine, gosh darn it.

I am neither a caseworker nor a legal expert of any kind. The legalities in this chapter, and others, are researched and my best guesses but I make no promises that they're completely accurate. Go with the flow, such as it is.

**Concerned**

**Part Two**

"Richard? I wanted to be prepared in case this happened this evening, so I have a foster family lined up for you to go to for now. Before we get you settled, we're taking you to the ER over at St. Joseph's to make sure you haven't been too badly hurt. After that we'll take you right over to the family you'll be staying with for a while. In the morning you'll go to school just as usual. I'll be in contact with the investigators and we'll try to get this resolved as soon as we can, alright?" She actually had the gall to pat his leg.

They were all in the squad car, Dick, Ms Clarke and the two cops. The bag Alfred had hurriedly packed with some clothes and his schoolbooks was in the trunk. He had his laptop in the case next to him. They had just passed through the Manor gates and were headed God knew where. It was dark out and if he'd been in a normal car Dick would have gone out the window or door by now, but a cop car was modified with that idea in mind. The back seat had no door or window handles. He was stuck unless he was willing to blow his identity, which he wasn't.

Besides, if he had any chance of getting home anytime soon, he knew he had to play the game. By now Bruce was on the phone to the head of his legal team who, in turn, would be calling the top custody lawyers in the country.

There was no way they were going to lose this, none.

Dick had meant what he said. If push came to shove he'd petition the court and have himself declared an emancipated minor. He'd become a legal adult and screw everyone.

This was complete and total bullshit as far as Dick was concerned. Bruce had never hit him, not really. Bruce, in his screwed up way loved him, cared for him. And Dick loved him back.

Bruce was the only parent he'd had since—well, since his life was destroyed and he didn't know if he could handle having it destroyed again. Nor did he want to find out.

He wasn't that strong. He wasn't and he knew it.

They'd win. He just had to play along for now.

"I'd rather go to my family doctor."

Ms. Clarke, Olivia to the cops in the front seat, patted his leg again. "Would you be more comfortable with someone you know?"

"Yes, I would. Dr. Leslie Thompkins at the Wayne Clinic in Gotham. I want to see her."

"That's fifteen miles out of our way, Livvy." One of the cops had heard him.

"It's almost eight, Richard, she's probably not there right now."

"She'll be there. She always works from noon to midnight. I want to see Dr. Leslie—besides, she's known me since I went to live with Bruce. You'll probably be questioning her anyway, right?"

"Well, I do need to speak to your family doctor. Boys, it's not that far, is it? I think it would be for the best for Richard here." They hesitated in the front seat. "Please?"

A long sigh and then, "OK, but we'll have to call it in. This was only supposed to take an hour or two for us."

The call made and the request approved, twenty-five minutes later they were walking into the brightly lit clinic. The waiting room was only half full and Leslie was writing something at the front desk.

Dick walked in stiffly, between the two officers with Livvy Clarke leading the way. His back and ribs were still a mess.

"Dr. Thompkins? If you have a few minutes could you examine Richard here?"

The older woman came around to where he was standing and saw the look on his face. The boy was equally distraught and angry; it was plain as the nose on his face even if all the others saw was the anger. "Dick, honey, are you hurt?" And why was he being escorted by a couple of police officers?

"I'm fine, I just tripped last night and some jackass at school thinks that Bruce is abusing me at home so I'm being removed from his guardianship until DYFS finishes it's investigation." He practically spit the information out through clenched teeth, whether through his fury or the obvious pain he was in, Leslie wasn't sure.

"Oh, my. Let's get you right inside then. Marcie? Could you please put Dick into number two and start a basic workup? I'll be there in a moment." One of the cops went with them and Dick knew he had no choice; he was just a cog in this machine. As they left he could hear Ms. Clarke ask if they could have a copy of his medical records and Leslie saying something about doctor/patient confidentiality.

She entered the exam room, saw that there was no chance that they would be able to talk privately and so just did her job while causing Dick the least amount of further upset. The DYFS woman followed her into the small room as well. It was a bit crowded in there.

"I need you to take your shirt off, Dick." She saw the look he gave her but there was nothing she could do. The clinic license could be at stake. She was a professional and she'd have to do her job.

"I don't think I can lift my arms, Dr. Leslie." He said it so quietly that she could barely hear him. Oh, dear. It must be bad if he couldn't move. No wonder someone had questioned it.

"I have to check you, sweetie. I'll cut your shirt off and give you a new one, alright?" He nodded mutely, he had no choice. This would happen no matter what. He had to submit to the exam.

As soon as the shirt and the bandages were removed the doctor just looked at him and opened the examination room door. "Marcie? I need a chest x-ray. Now, please." She turned back to Dick, still sitting on the table. "How did this happen?" She'd seen the boy hurt any number of times and he was always the same when it did—defensive and angry with himself for some perceived failure on his part.

"I miss judged a landing and hit, that's all. It's not a big deal." She gave him an Alfred worthy glare. "It's not like it's never happened before. C'mon..."

He was positioned in front of the machine; the others going behind the lead screen while the pictures were snapped. "I need those right away, please."

Leslie put him back on the table, examining the massive bruising and deep scrapes on his back and around his right side and shoulder, gently feeling his ribcage.

"And I take it you didn't tell anyone you hurt yourself?" He shrugged. Of course he hadn't. Leslie just shook her head at him. "You know better than that. Left untreated, small injuries become large ones." Her assistant brought the films in, still wet.

"You broke two ribs and cracked two more. You also have a deep abrasion that looks like it wants to become infected. Really, Dick, if you weren't in pain I'd be quite cross with you—and you not even telling Alfred. That poor man will be terribly upset. Now you know better than to do something like this. Really."

She retaped his ribs, prescribed him antibiotics and painkillers and wrote him a note saying he couldn't take gym for at least two weeks. "You'll heal. But promise me that you'll take it easy? And I want you back here in five days so I can check how you're coming with this. You hear me?"

He nodded.

"Dr. Thompkins, would it be possible for me to take copies of his medical chart with me?" That was Ms Clarke.

"I'm sorry, but without the proper request you know I can't release anything like that, Miss. I'd risk my license if I did."

"I'll have the paperwork for that done and get it to you as soon as I can, probably tomorrow, Doctor. We're concerned about any previous problems that he might have had"

Leslie just looked at her. She'd been through this sort of thing too many times to not know how they were handled. She never thought it would ever involve her boys, though and she knew that the charges had to be a mistake.

Bruce ever hurt Dick? He'd cut his arm off first. She'd testify to that if it came to it—and she knew that there was a good chance that it would.

"Dick, honey, if you need anything—anything at all—you call me, do you understand?"

He nodded and seemed close to tears. He seemed so grown up lately and he tried to be so tough when things weren't going well, but at heart he was still a scared boy who'd lost his parents much to young and needed Bruce to be there for him as much as he needed air to breathe. That sweet boy had been through too much in only fifteen years. It was so, well, it was just so wrong and she heard the voice in the back of her head telling her what she already knew; 'whoever said it was fair?'

Dick left the clinic, a police officer on each side of him and was loaded back into the squad car.

Leslie went into her private office, shut the door behind her and dialed. "Alfred? How on earth could this have happened?"

"Richard? We're taking you to a temporary foster home now. Like I told you, you'll stay there until this is all sorted out, alright?"

Like he had a fucking choice.

He was looking out the window and had completely tuned the others out as soon as he got into the car, it was a talent he had. Dick could tune out anything or anyone when he wanted to. As far as he was concerned, he was alone and there was an inpentatrable wall around him..

"I think you'll like the family we found for you. They're lovely people and they have a girl almost your age so you'll have someone to talk to."

Nothing.

"Richard?"

Silence.

"Richard? Did you hear me?"

"Fuck off." It was said without emotion, quietly and with his face still turned to the window. Nothing more was said the rest of the ride. About half an hour later they pulled into the driveway of a suburban spilt level tract house. The lights were on and they were expected. Dick got out of the car after one of the cops opened the handless door for him and, saying nothing, he went into the house, the front door opening as he approached.

"Dick, you're welcome here as long as you want to stay."

Christ, Tom Weidman, history teacher and noted sensitive shoulder for the student in need. Dick just stared at him. This couldn't be happening.

"This is my wife, Nancy and our daughter Amber. Honey, could you show Dick where he'll be sleeping?"

Ms. Clarke spoke up before he could disappear, hand on his arm again. "Richard? Tomorrow a police officer will drive you to school and then will pick you up after your last class. Now you have to understand that this is for your own protection—you've done nothing wrong at all. We just have to make sure that you're alright."

"I'm fine. I've been fine all along. All I want is to go home." He sounded exhausted, like he'd been saying the same thing all his life and if he said it often enough maybe someone would finally believe him.

"I know that's what you want, but we have to be sure that you're in the place that's best for you."

"Then send me to Romania and I'll stay with my grandfather."

"If that's what's best for you, that's what will happen. Now we have the medicine that Dr. Thompkins gave you and Mr. And Mrs. Weidman will make sure that the prescriptions for more will be filled tomorrow, won't you? Oh, good. Now, until this is all settled, you're not supposed to have any contact with Mr. Wayne or Mr. Pennyworth, Richard. And they aren't allowed to contact you, either. This is for your protection and theirs as well, so please don't be picking up the phone or anything, alright?"

Dick wanted this to all end, he wanted them all to leave him alone so he could close a door and be alone. Barring that he wanted to go to the Tower so he could talk to Donna or Garth. They always listened and he knew they cared about him. They were friends; they weren't some teacher butting in where he had no business. They would understand. Or Clark. Clark was great.

"Now, Richard, you do understand how important it is that you cooperate with us in this, don't you? Everything will be easier for everyone if you help us out because all we want to do is to help you, alright? You know that, don't you? We all want this settled as quickly as possible, that's the best thing for you. It's just that we're all concerned about you, you know that."

"I'm really tired, could I just go to bed now?" It was almost midnight; time to roll from the cave on a normal night.

Nancy Weidman took up the gauntlet. "Of course, dear, let me show you where you'll be." She picked up his bag; he carried his computer in its case and walked up the half flight of stairs without looking back at Ms Clarke or the cops.

Screw 'em.

"You'll be in here—oh, gosh, do you prefer Dick or Richard?"

"Most people call me Dick." Or Robin. Or Robbie.

"Alright, Dick it is then. The bathroom is just across the hall there. I guess this isn't quite as grand as you're used to, is it?" She smiled in apology. It was a small bedroom, maybe ten by ten with a single window and a twin bed. There was a dresser and a battered student desk and a closet. Period. Oh, and a bookcase with outgrown children's books. The collected works of the Berensteen Bears were his for the reading.

"I was born in a trailer, not even a double wide. I'm purebred trailer trash. My parents never owned a house and we didn't have a car, either. This would have been a step up for us." He knew he was laying it on thick, but it had been a pretty crappy day and he wanted to take it out on someone. In fact his father had a really great Harley with a sidecar that they'd load onto the circus train and during the winter layoff they'd usually go visit Papa in Europe and ski the Alps with him. It wasn't half bad. The Harley was in Bruce's garage.

She seemed stopped by his comment and he briefly felt guilty. Very briefly. "Do you need one of your pain meds? They told us you have a couple of broken ribs. Or are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

"I'm alright, I'd just like to sleep, if that's OK. It's been a long day."

"Of course, Dick. You get some rest. I'll be in to wake you at six thirty so you can get ready for school and get some breakfast. There's an extra blanket in the closet and that floor lamp works of you want to read for a while." She was about to leave him alone, finally. "Dick? Do you have a cell phone with you?"

"Yeah, why?" God, he was tried. And he hurt, too.

"That Miss Clarke said that you're not supposed to have one. They don't want you calling Mr. Wayne."

Jesus. He reached into his jeans pocket and handed the thing to her. Like there weren't a thousand phones he could get his hands on. She smiled an apology at him.

"Lucius? I want the head of legal to meet me in my office at seven tomorrowâYes, you, tooâIn fact, call Jud and tell him—No, I'll call him myselfâSeven in my office. Sharp."

"Jud?âSorry to disturb you at home, but I need to see youâRight nowâWhere are you? Farmington? That's only a couple of miles from here, can you be here in fifteen minutes?âWell, bring your kids if you don't have a sitterâFine, if they're in bed I'll come to you. What's your address?âI'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Ten minutes later Bruce was ringing the doorbell at Jud Breslin's. Jud was the best lawyer Bruce knew which why he was paid enough to make private practice unappealing and why he headed Wayne Corps legal department at the age of thirty-seven. His wife, an accomplished portrait painter, was off sketching a new commission in Rome and Jud was watching the kids while she was away. He'd taken almost a week of personal time to do it.

He didn't have all that much contact with Bruce Wayne, just the necessary office dealings and Jud hadn't quite gotten a 'read' on the man. His rep, of course, was that of an air headed dilettante, but the reality seemed a long was off from the image. No one ran a company the size of Wayne Enterprises if he was an idiot, no matter how good his staff was. He seemed affable enough and God knew he paid well and all of that, but something just didn't add up about the man.

"Mr. Wayne, please, come in. Can I get you anything?" Wayne was as well put together as he ever was, but under the tailored slacks and the cashmere sweater, Jud could see that he was pretty tightly wound.

"No, thanks—well, do you have a beer?"

"Sure." Bruce Wayne drank beer? OK, whatever. Jud went into the kitchen to get a couple bottles from the fridge and was slightly startled when he realized that his boss had followed him. Bruce Wayne, the third richest man in the world in his kitchen with a bottle of Heineken? This was a first. Thank God he had that to offer instead of a Bud. He opened the two bottles and was about to pour them into glasses when Bruce shook his head, "Don't bother" and took a drink straight up. Jud was about to suggest that they go into the den when Wayne sat at the kitchen table.

"This is fine, the kitchen—it's fine." He started right in. The man was as close to upset at Jud had ever seen him, not that he spent all that much time with his boss. "I had a visit tonight from a social worker—case worker, whatever. A woman from DYFS came to the house to check out a suspicion that Dick is somehow being abused. It's complete garbage, but she took him out under police escort and he's been made a temporary ward of the state. I need to know his rights and my rights and how to get him back as soon as possible."

Dick—that would be Dick Grayson, Wayne's adopted son, or whatever he was. Everyone had heard the rumors about why a single man would adopt a young boy and house him in that big pile of rocks up on the hill. You'd have to be blind and deaf not to know about the rumors.

"Mr. Wayne, I'm not a specialist in custody law, I'm a corporate lawyer"

"You're a lawyer and you work for me. Can you answer my questions or not?"

"I'll try. Anything I don't know I'll find out."

"Good."

"How is Dick related to you, sir?"

"Dick is an orphan who has been my legal ward since his parents were killed seven years ago. He's lived with me since then, as well. We're not blood relations and I didn't know him before his parents were killed. I didn't know his parents, either."

"OK, I can get most of this background tomorrow, just tell me why you think there's a suspicion of abuse—and what kind of abuse are we talking about here?"

"Unknown to me, Dick was injured last night. He insists that he just slipped or tripped and bruised his back, as far as I could tell. He went to school this morning and I gather his teachers noticed that he was hurt."

"How was he injured?"

"I'm not sure. He didn't tell me. He just said he slipped."

"UmâMr. Wayne, you have a live in staff, don't you? Wouldn't one of them have noticed if something was wrong with the boy?"

He waited till I had left for the office before coming down this morning and went out the door without stopping for breakfast. No one really saw him."

"How old is Dick?"

"Fifteen."

"There was no suggestion of sexual abuse?"

"No."

"Good. Did the case worker mention any other examples of any problems?"

He took another pull of beer, he seemed nervous. "She brought up an incident from about six, eight months ago when he was left alone for two days when I had to go to London on short notice. The boy became ill and no one was home to pick him up. He ended up napping in the nurse's office."

Jud had two kids of his own. This was lame. "You left a fifteen year old kid alone when you went to England? What about your staff?"

"I'd given them the week off—I do that every year, we just sort of make do by ourselves then. Dick likes it, looks forward to it every year; he doesn't like having people around all the time. He says it's like living in a hotel. Besides, I left him every possible phone number and a large number of friends were looking out for him. He should have been fine, he's extremely independent. He wanted to stay alone, insisted on it. I'd offered to take him to England, but he had tests that week and couldn't miss school." With Clark and Diana and J'onn and the rest checking in on him, what could happen?

"Anything else?"

"They, the social service people, seem to think he's injured a lot."

"Is he?"

"He'd an active, athletic teenager, sure he sprains an ankle or breaks an occasional bone. That's normal."

"Is that it?"

"She also mentioned an incident from a couple of months ago. Some people saw me backhand him across the face."

"âThey have witnesses to testify to this?"

"I believe so, yes."

He left a minor child alone in a huge house while he went to London, he'd hit the kid in public and now the boy had been hurt and no one noticed. And they'd have Wayne's rep and the rumors about a single man living with a young boy to contend with. This wasn't going to be a cakewalk.

"I'll call a friend of mine, Kevin Rooney. He works out of New York and he's one of the top child custody and family law guys in the country. If anyone can sort this out for you, he can do it."

"I want my son back. Do whatever you have to, just get him home."

"We'll do what we can, sir. You do realize that the State knows that they'll be up against a good legal team if they bring this to court. They know you'll hire the best you can find."

"So you're saying that they wouldn't bring a case unless they thought they could win?"

"I'm saying they're not going to pull their punches and it could get ugly. This is guaranteed to generate a lot of publicity and there'll be a lot of mud thrown and with a minor and a lot of money—and high profile clients involved it's going to get nasty."

"You don't think we'll win?"

"I didn't say that, but Mr. Wayne? You've got yourself a problem."

TBC

7/26/04

Title: Concerned Part 3

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Planning starts

Warnings: None

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

This is self-betaed. Mistakes, large and small are mine, all mine, gosh darn it.

I am neither a caseworker nor a legal expert of any kind. The legalities in this chapter, and others, are researched and my best guesses but I make no promises that they're completely accurate. Go with the flow, such as it is. Oh, and the stuff about Rom's? I made that up.

**Concerned**

Chapter Three 

The next morning Nancy Weidman knocked on her guestroom door. The poor boy—only fifteen and to have gone through everything he had and with no end in sight. Orphaned and now possibly losing the only other home he'd known. And Tom said he was smart as a whip, too, and usually so well mannered.

Well, last night was hardly anything to judge him by, he was upset and injured and, well, it just wasn't the time to make any kind of judgment about him but even feeling the way he did, he had managed to be cordial. It was impressive under the circumstances.

"Dick? Are you awake? It's six-thirty, time to get up." She pushed the door opened and there he was, still dead to the world. Poor thing must have been exhausted and she'd heard him moving around till past two in the morning. Not that it was any wonder that he couldn't sleep—she had almost gone in to see if she could get him anything but Tom had said to just leave him alone, give him some space.

"Dick?"

He opened his eyes and nodded. "I'm coming. Is it alright if I take a shower first?"

"Of course. Do you eat bacon and eggs?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

Closing the door she went back down to the kitchen. Tom had his usual coffee and newspaper. Amber was there too, eating a bowl of cornflakes, her latest kick. "Is he coming down?"

"As soon as he gets cleaned up. Do you want some orange juice?"

"OK. Did you see him last night? Isn't he gorgeous? I mean, he's got to have the bluest eyes I've seen and God, did you see his bod? And he looked so sad—like Romeo or something." Amber had never met a cute boy she didn't like and Dick qualified in spades.

"Leave him alone. He's going through a rough time right now. And his bod is injured so you stay away from it."

A few minutes later Dick showed up, hair still wet and wearing Levi's and an old Haley Circus tee shirt. He didn't flaunt his background, but he didn't hide it, either. Nancy handed him the pain pills and the antibiotics which he swallowed without comment. She put a plate in front of him and he began silently eating, not making eye contact with any of them, just shoveling it in.

The silence was strained.

"I'm sorry that you can't ride into school with me, Dick. That would have been easier."

Silence.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

All Tom got for his pains was a filthy look before Dick went back to his food. In a couple of minutes there was a knock at the front door. Nancy answered it, returning with a uniformed cop. Shit, couldn't they even send a plain clothes man in an unmarked car? The damn cop car was out there, front and center. Hang a sign, why don't you?

"Dick? Your ride is here for school."

Oh, great, his fucking police escort to shield him from Bruce and Alfred. Christ. Leaving the rest of his food he stood up to get his backpack.

His hosts exchanged a look.

Tom called him back. "Dick? Excuse me, I know you're not happy about everything that's happened, but you can use common courtesy. We've both been trying to make this as painless as possible for you and Nancy just cooked and gave you your breakfast. You could manage a simple acknowledgement."

In all his years of working with kids, Tom Weidman had never seen the level of anger he saw now on Dick's face—it was contained, controlled fury and what he said next had all the more impact for it's low, tight delivery. The words were almost spit out through clenched teeth.

"You butted in where you have no business. I told you, that lame ass case worker, the fucking cops and Dr. Leslie that I hurt myself with no help from anyone. Bruce has never touched me and Alfred wouldn't hurt me if you paid him to. After my parents were killed Bruce was the only one—the fucking only one—who bothered to give me a place to stay. My Goddamned caseworker that time around locked me up in Juvie the night they died because he couldn't be bothered to find a foster home. I spent two weeks in a fucking jail cell because he lost the paperwork. Bruce is the one who got me out of there and he's been looking out for me ever since. Now because you think I'm stupid enough to let someone use me as a punching bag there's going to end up being some Goddamned trial just so I can go home"

"Now, Dick, that's not fair. We're all concerned"

"Fuck you. I don't need you and I sure as hell don't need your 'concern'. I'll play this game as long as I have to, then I'm gone."

Nancy tried to put her hand on his arm, tried to calm him down. His glare caused her to retreat. "I haven't had a mother since I was eight. I sure as shit don't need one now." Grabbing his backpack, they heard the front door slam.

"I'd like to thank you all for making it here so early this morning. Please help yourself to coffee and whatever it is Laurie arranged for us. This isn't Wayne Corp business, it's my own personal concern, but I need the best legal team I can get and you're the backbone of what I need." He looked around the conference table. It was quarter of seven in the morning and they were all there, a dozen of the best lawyers he had on his staff. They were good, in fact, they were as good as it got and that was why they had jobs. Kevin Rooney, Jud's family law friend had also made it in on short notice. He seemed to be taking every one's measure, especially Bruce's

Jud turned to Bruce. "Do you want to tell them or should I, sir?"

"Go ahead Jud, I'll fill in any gaps."

"Alright, last evening around seven-thirty without prior warning" He looked at Bruce, yes, with no prior warning. "Mr. Wayne received a call from a DYFS caseworker asking for immediate separate interviews with both Mr. Wayne and his ward, Richard Grayson—I think some of you may have seen Dick around the office occasionally." There were nods around the table. "He admitted her to his home a few minutes later where she informed him that she was there to determine if Dick was in possible jeopardy as a child abuse victim while living there. Evidently someone at his school noticed that Dick had some injuries yesterday while he was in school and I gather that the school principal made the call to child services. Mr. Wayne cooperated with the interview, Dick was also questioned and the result was that he was removed from the premises under police escort. He is currently in an unknown temporary foster home and, as is standard, all contact between the boy and Mr. Wayne has been forbidden until the case is resolved. I spoke to Mr. Wayne last evening and he's told me of a couple of incidents which could be problems should this go to trial. I think you all got the briefing notes when you came in? Good—the incidents are outlined there, as I understand them. Are there any questions?"

Rooney looked at his friend. "Jud, you said that the boy was injured—what injuries?"

"I called the case worker after Mr. Wayne left my house, she told me that a medical examination last evening showed that Dick has four damaged ribs—two broken, two cracked and a deep laceration on his back. He was prescribed painkillers and antibiotics and released. Baring complications, he should be in school today."

Dick was that badly injured and he didn't say anything? Damned kid. Bruce looked around the room. The legal team was all reading Jud's outline and not looking too optimistic. A couple of them glanced at Bruce, trying to gauge his reaction to the description of Dick's injuries.

He kept his face a blank as he glanced through copy at his own place. On paper it looked bad.

He had hit Dick, neglected him, been unaware of injury and illness, raised him without a mother figure of any kind and forced him to live isolated in a mansion on a hill.

God, it was all so, it was—the things on the paper had happened but they didn't tell the story and they would be blown up in court. He knew how it would be. Everything would be exaggerated, the women he dated, his shallow image, his bank account. And Dick, his story would be dragged across every magazine and tabloid in the country and beyond—poor little circus orphan taken in and then misused.

Jesus, it would become a nightmare.

Dick would be painted as an innocent foundling, motherless and fatherless, taken advantage of by the big bad Bruce and there would be hundreds of reporters, photographers, news crews—it would become a damned media circus to rival Michael Jackson or Martha Stewart and the howling hordes would want his blood.

That's how these things worked.

He stood up and spoke quietly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, just get my son back home and as quickly as possible. Dick—he watched his parents die when he was only eight years old and he's lived with me since that happened. The social worker seven years ago botched his case so badly that he still has nightmares and the only security he has is with me. His own family refused to take him in. He needs—he just needs to come home."

All the eyes in the room were watching him, embarrassed by the raw emotion of their remote and usually frivolous boss.

"I don't pretend that I've been a perfect parent, but I've never intentionally hurt him—he's my son, I couldn't—wouldn't do that. Even the day I slapped him, God—I could have cut my hand off—it had never happened before and it never happened again. I swear that. I'll swear that in court." He paused, out of steam. "Just get him back for me—and for him. Please. Do whatever you have to, but make sure that it's settled. This can't be reopened in a year or two because of a mistake or a mistrial. Make it final and make it air tight."

Rooney, the family law expert spoke up. "Mr. Wayne, it will be brutal, the prosecution will bring up everything they can to discredit you. Your company could well suffer, you have to understand this."

"If that's what it takes then make sure we win. I'll take him to live in Europe or someplace if I have to until the feeding frenzy dies down, just get him back."

Dick was sitting in fourth period Trig when the intercom buzzed. The teacher answered, listened for a moment. "Dick? You're wanted in the office. Take your books."

When he got down there he was told that he was wanted in the Guidance Office next door. In there he found about what he expected; a cop and Olivia Clarke.

"Richard? I'd like to talk to you for a little while, if that's OK with you. Do you mind?"

And it would matter if he did mind becauseâ?

"Whatever."

One of the school counselors was standing there and told them that they could use her office for as long as they wanted.

Inside the small room, with the door closed, Dick faced Ms Clarke. The officer sat behind him. There was a tape recorder on the desk.

"How did it go last night with the Weidman's? Aren't they a lovely family?

Dick just looked at her. Idiot.

She was unfazed. "I need to get a statement from you Richard. Are you willing to talk to me?"

Like he had a choice. "If it will help me go home, sure."

"Well, we're working on that. So do you mind if I turn on the recorder while we talk to each other?"

So whatever he said could be used against Bruce in court? Sure, why not? "I don't mind." Like they would care if he did.

She pushed a couple of buttons. "Alright, first of all, how are you feeling today? Are your ribs any better?"

"They're fine."

"Richard, could you tell me, in detail, how you were injured?"

Not fucking likely. "I was alone down in the manor gym, practicing a routine on the high bar. I missed a catch after an aerial and hit the bar."

"What move were you attempting when you were hurt?"

"An original move. I do a staulter then stop mid swing, stand on the top bar for a moment then do a back flip with a twist and catch the bar as I come around. It doesn't really have a name."

"That sounds dangerous, how high off the floor is this bar?"

"The one I use is nine feet."

"When you do things like this, is anyone watching you?"

"You mean like a spotter?" She nodded. "Not usually. I've been doing gymnastics since I was three. I'm good enough that I usually work alone." That was bullshit. Bruce had a fit when he found out the kinds of moves Dick practiced when he wasn't there. He's blown a major gasket the last time he'd walked in unexpectedly. "I pile a lot of mats under the bar, though. It's pretty soft."

"Does Mr. Wayne know you do this? Obviously it's dangerous. You have four damaged ribs right now from that."

Dick just shrugged. "I don't always tell him because he doesn't want me to get hurt."

"Would he have stopped you if he had known what you were doing?"

"Yeah, or he would have spotted me. One or the other."

"Richard, I need you to tell me the truth, OK? This is important." He looked at her. Yeah, sure, what next, lady? "Has Mr. Wayne ever struck you?"

Dick's vibes kicked in. She knew something. Shit, she must know about that timeâ "Yes, once a few months ago. I had cut school, hotwired one of his cars and went for a ride. When he saw me he was pretty angry. He slapped me across the face. Once. That's the only time, though."

"And what did you do?"

"I knew I'd screwed up so I felt pretty bad."

"Did he hit you hard?"

"Hard enough. Not hard enough to break anything, just to make a point."

"I spoke to your dentist this morning. He said he had to wire two of your teeth in place because they were loosened."

"It wasn't that bad. The wires were just a precaution."

"Tell me about the time he left you alone when he went to London."

"He had business, I had school so I stayed home. It was no big deal. He was only gone two days and he had like everyone on the planet look in on me and call me and take me out to dinner and stuff. It wasn't like he'd abandoned me or anything."

"Did he call you while he was gone?"

"Why would he do that? I was fine. If I wasn't he would have known."

"Has Mr. Wayne ever made any improper advances to you, Richard?"

Dick laughed out loud. "Bruce hit on me? Hell, no. God." He was still smiling. "Look, I know the rumors as well as anyone does, but they're bullshit. Bruce likes girls too much to waste his time on me. I mean, really, I'm not his type." He was laughing again. "You're wasting your time with that one."

"How do you feel about Mr. Wayne, Richard?" He had no idea what she was asking. "Do you see him as a father or an older brother or a friend?"

Why didn't she ask him something simple like describingâwell, something other than this? How did he feel about Bruce? Jesus. He thought for a long moment, started to say something, stopped then started again.

"He's who I lean on because I know he cared about me when no one else did." Another pause. "And he always will, no matter how badly I mess up."

Ms Clarke smiled at him. "You're trying to paint him in a good light, Richard and you're doing a good job." She looked at her notes. "After your parents were killed and you went to live with Mr. Wayne, did your blood family ever try to contact you, try to get custody?"

He just shrugged.

"Do you ever see your real family, Richard?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"We've sort of lost touch."

"Why?" She actually seemed sad at the thought. God, she probably cried at chick flicks, too. Well, why not tell her the truth.

"I'm Rom." She looked blank. "Romany, Gypsy. My father was a full-blooded Rom. I'm Rom. If a Gypsy child is raised by a non-Gypsy, they're considered unclean so my family decided that I'm dead to them."

"Would you like to see them?"

"Not really. I don't care about them, except my grandfather. I see him every year. Bruce flies me over every winter so I can visit him. We ski together."

She smiled, partially relieved. "That sounds lovely, Richard. If it's alright, I may have to talk with you again in a few days after I've found out more. Would that be alright?"

Like he had a choice. "Sure."

"OK, why don't you go back to class now?"

After he'd gone the police officer asked Olivia what she thought. "I think he's trying to protect Wayne and I think he'll lie to do it."

In the legal department of Wayne Enterprises the brainstorming and research had been going on all day. Bruce went down there himself to see what the initial thoughts about the case were.

Jud broke the bad news. "There's a record of you being neglectful and inattentive and we have witnesses who saw you strike him in public. On top of that, his medical record is as thick as a phone book. He's had more injuries than fucking Evel Kneivel. He's a good student, which is a plus, but he's absent a lot. He's a good athlete but plays on no school teams—juries look at this stuff. It makes him look like he's a hermit or being kept away from other kids." Jud held up his hand to stop Bruce's protest. "Plus there's a pattern of you missing school plays, science fairs and that sort of parental thing. One year you sent your butler to fill in for you at a parent/teacher conference. And this all doesn't even start with your public rep as a rich—man about town."

"You're saying you think we'll lose?"

"I think we've got an uphill fight on our hands. Look you're not Satan, you give a lot of money to charities, you did take him in when his family wouldn't, he's smart and a good looking kid and he's well spoken—that will all help. Plus he wants to stay with you. But, I have to tell you, it's not going to be easy."

Back at the Weidman's Dick declined dinner, saying his ribs hurt too much and he wasn't hungry anyway. Besides, he had homework to do. He was more civil than he'd been at breakfast and no one said anything about his outburst. He spent the evening in 'his' room, IM-ing Garth who was down in Atlantis for a few weeks and venting it all out to his friend. Garth was bitching back at him—it seemed that Arthur had a bug on about something or other, as usual, and so every one had to stay out of his way for a while. It was a pain. After an hour or more of cyber chat Garth had to go to some Royal function he was expected at but promised he'd be on line the next night. Dick next left long e-mails for Clark and Donna, neither of whom responded. They must have been out somewhere. They'd get back to him when they could, he knew they were busy. If anyone could come up with a solution, maybe Clark would have it.

Maybe.

Dick knew he'd try at least.

That same evening Bruce ate dinner in the kitchen with Alfred. Neither one was hungry and they both heard the loud silence in the house.

In the editorial offices of the National Inquirer a tip was phoned in about a good scandal that could break any minute, but they could be the first if they would pay. Asking questions, pulling some archive pictures that seemed to work, the editor decided to run with it.

TBC

7/26/04

Title: Concerned Part 4

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Some introspection from the boys

Warnings: None

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

This is self-betaed. Mistakes, large and small are mine, all mine, gosh darn it.

I am neither a caseworker nor a legal expert of any kind. The legalities in this chapter, and others, are researched and my best guesses but I make no promises that they're completely accurate. Go with the flow, such as it is. Oh, and the stuff about Rom's? I made that up. No hexes or anything, please.

**Concerned**

Chapter Four 

It had been almost a week since the shit had hit the fan, as Dick thought of it. His ribs hurt less and the scrape across his back was healing. He got up and ate breakfast, he went to school in a police car and every few day some new social worker or child psychologist would call him out of class to ask him more questions. How many frigging times could he say he'd slipped?

Jesus.

The other students in school had heard the rumors and he was the topic du jour in the lunchroom and the study hall.

The latest issue of the Inquirer had hit the stands and while his name was not printed—what with him being a minor and all—Bruce was given full coverage and anyone with half a brain could figure it out without much effort, especially in the area they lived in. A call to the rag's managing editor from Kevin Rooney—Mr. Hotshit Family Lawyer—had convinced the man of the wisdom of protecting Dick's identity and made it clear that the boy was not fodder for their mill or they'd slam back—hard. Since it involved a minor and a possible custody trial, the editor saw the man's point. Neither Dick's picture nor his name appeared.

It was all they could do and it hadn't made much difference. Within hours of the article being printed other media picked up the story and it was—Christ—everywhere. On the entertainment shows, on the local news, on the Internet.

Kids in school either pretended to ignore him while staring at Dick behind their books or bluntly came up and asked him if it was true while assuming that being Bruce's boy toy was the price of his living with a billionaire and catching the perks. There was even a spirited debate in ethics class about who would do what for enough money. Luckily Dick wasn't in that particular section—he'd heard about it, of course. On Tuesday he was sent to the vice-principal's office for flipping the football player who asked him if he missed all the 'comforts of home'. He was told not to let it happen again and was let off with a warning.

When he was driven back to the Weidman's after school he would go up to the room they were letting him use, close the door and stay there until the next morning. He'd come out when no one else was in the kitchen to get himself food and would take it up to his room, eating the apple or the bag of cookies or the piece of cheese while IM-ing his friends. They were his link to sanity.

He was angry and frustrated and when Leslie Thompkins saw him for a follow up to check his injuries, she prescribed him anti-depressants that he didn't take. He thanked her, sarcastically, for letting the fucking DYFS office have his medical records and wouldn't listen when she tried to explain that there was nothing she could do to prevent it—the clinic could have been shut down if she hadn't cooperated with the authorities.

The doctor suggested to Olivia Clarke that she might consider withdrawing Dick from school for the time being, the boy was under a tremendous amount of stress. She was concerned about him. Olivia thanked her for her suggestion, but thought that what he needed was the security of his regular schedule and familiar surroundings. He would stay where he was.

Bruce had attempted to soldier on with his usual round of meetings and his day-to-day work, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on mergers and IPO's. His professional mask was in danger of slipping.

The Bat had only flown a couple of times in the last week and, while things on that front were quiet, he knew he should do more but kept finding himself going down to the cave to get ready and ending up sitting at the computer researching child abuse.

The second night it happened he went into the gym and stood under the high bar Dick had hurt himself on. The chalk was still sitting on the edge of the mat and Dick's handgrips were there as well, left where he'd dropped them. Picking them up he noticed that there was some dried blood stained into the leather. That happened with Dick sometimes. He'd work so long and so hard that he'd sometimes tear a callus and his hands would bleed but he'd ignore the pain and the blood and just keep going. That was the way Dick worked—pushing himself too long, too hard, always thinking he could do better, never thinking he was doing well enough.

He hadn't been down there in almost two weeks and he noticed the smears on the mat where Dick had made an effort to wipe up the blood, with only partial success. It was still there if you looked.

Christ.

If the kid had just told him, if he had said something, if Bruce had been there to spot him, if he wasn't such a damn good gymnast, if he didn't keep trying to prove himself, if he'd trusted Bruce enough to tell him, if he had stuck to the moves he was sure of instead of trying to impress, if Bruce had been paying more attention

If, if, if.

The quiet voice came from behind him. "You know this accomplishes nothing."

"Alfred, this is my fault. We might lose him and even if we don't I can't begin to think about the damage this is doing to him."

The older man nodded. "Come with me, you have to eat."

"I'm not"

"Come with me."

They went over to the elevator and he ended up sitting at the kitchen table where Alfred had set out a sandwich and a glass of beer. There was a cup of Alfred's favorite tea over on the counter.

"Sit down and eat that, making yourself ill won't help."

Bruce did as he was told, he knew better than to try to buck the tide of Alfred.

"Any news? Have the lawyers found anything, has the social agency said anything?"

"Just maneuvering at this point. That article in the tabloid caused DYFS to draw back a little. I think that they're starting to see how big this can of worms actually is. I had Kevin make sure that Dick's name is protected, but that's a hollow victory, at best. His name was already leaked before we got the gag order."

"And of course he's been in the media as your ward for years now anyway. Closing the barn after the horse has escaped, as it were."

"Yes."

In all the years Alfred had known Bruce, and he'd known him all his life, he had never seen the dejection he was witnessing with this. Losing the boy, knowing that Dick was suffering, was making Bruce bleed.

"You know that you couldn't love that young man more if your life depended on it. And Dick knows it as well. My goodness, when he came to you he was as traumatized as a child could be—and rightly so. You're the only reason he came out of that shell he'd gone into."

"I felt sorry for him and I saw myself in him—you know that Alfred, our two stories paralleled one another so closely that how could I not help him?"

"You've been a father to the lad, you did everything you could to encourage him to grow into the quite outstanding youngster he is and in a few years he'll become a formidable man as well. He'll have you to thank for that, sir. You're being much too hard on yourself—if it weren't for the training you've given him, he wouldn't be able to withstand what he's enduring now. He'll be all the stronger for it."

Bruce gave a half laugh. "That which does not kill me makes me stronger?"

"I suppose so, yes."

Bruce watched Alfred as he moved a round the kitchen, straightening this, putting away that, wiping down the already spotless counter. "You miss him as much as I do. I'm sorry that you're having to deal with this, too."

He didn't pause in his wiping. "We'll come through it, you'll see, sir." A moment. "You think we may not?"

Bruce have a half shrug, hardly a characteristic move "I was reading over the evidence that will be presented to the hearing judge next week" Bruce saw the questioning look. "To determine if there's enough evidence to warrant a case. The best we can hope for is dismissal, but it's not going to happen. The evidence, the implications of neglect and potential abuse, endangerment and all of that and I—." He looked at Alfred. "I think that the charges have some merit."

"Balderdash."

He smiled, that was just so—Alfred. "Think about it, though; I certainly have been. I have been neglectful. I did forget or blow off a lot of his school things over the years—the assemblies, the parent days, that teacher conference I sent you to cover for me"

"You were called off by the Justice League to defend the planet. I'd hardly equate the two. You love that child and you have for years. That's plain for anyone to see."

"You're not a ten year old boy and you're not a judge. I did move him in here, 'the big house on the hill with always locked gates' and you know as well as I do that he has almost no civilian friends. When was the last time he had a friend over who wasn't in the business? I don't mean the Titans; I'm talking about some kid in his math class or something. A kid he just goes to the movies with or hangs out in him room with? It's been along time."

"Now really, if he wanted regular friends, he could surely have them."

"Could he? With all the secrets around here? Kids are sensitive to that sort of thing and I sure as hell drilled it into him."

"You have good reason to do so. There's so much at stake"

"Enough so that he gave up any sort of normal life? And that's something else I hadn't realized—Jesus, I didn't notice! Have you ever looked through his list of injuries since he's become Robin? It's as long as your arm; broken bones, concussions, he's been grazed by bullets, almost hung, strangled, gassed—the list goes on and on."

"Well, yes, but" Alfred moved his teacup—never a mug—to the table. "You ignore the fact that his live has never been what one could call 'normal'. Raised in a traveling circus and only half educated when the time allowed. I'll grant that his parents did the best they could for him, but"

"But nothing. Screw nothing. I have endangered him, constantly. I have. It's a miracle that he hasn't been killed and what the hell for? My ego? To prove that I can do what I do even with a child tagging along? To make sure that the legacy can continue when I'm out of the picture?"

"Bruce, you're being entirely too hard on yourself. Really you are. I've never seen a man look after a child the way you've looked after Master Dick and he adores you for it."

"Come on, Alfred. He was a homeless orphan when he came here, he wanted revenge and an outlet for his anger and I gave him exactly what he wanted. I put him right in the line of fire of every psychopath in the country."

"And he has thrived on it. Good Lord, look at the young man he's become—self-reliant, independent, skilled, intelligent, confidant. He's marvelous and he has you to thank for that."

Bruce refused to believe what Alfred was saying. "Have you ever met his grandfather? I mean his real one, the one who lives in Romania?"

Alfred shook his head, "I've never had the pleasure."

"I did. About a year after Dick first came here I made a side trip while I was in Germany and I've been in touch with him ever since. Dick doesn't know."

The old man sat at the kitchen table. Bruce had been in contact with Dick's family? If the boy found out he was bound to view it as the rankest of betrayals. "How could you not tell Dick?"

"Because his grandfather thought that he would be better off with me and asked me to keep him. It was all I could do to get him to agree to yearly visits for Dick. The real problem—what I didn't realize—was that because Dick had been living here that long and the guardianship papers were finalized at that point made him an outcast to his people. He would have been shunned. As far as they're concerned, he's no longer a Rom. In a way, he's been defiled through contact with me."

"I can't believe that they would turn their backs on a child like that."

"It was my fault. I didn't look into the Gypsy's customs and so I made it impossible for him to return to his own family. It was my own stupidity and arrogance"

"But, Good Lord, might not his grandfather have simply been correct? Might he not be better off here, with all the advantages—the education, the experiences he's had, the security you've provided? Surely that's all been a great gain for him. When he first got here he required remedial classes to catch up to his peers in school. His academics were far inferior to where he is now."

"For what they're worth, but the things he's lost; his family, his culture, the life his parents were bringing him up to live—he was happy then and he belonged. I destroyed that. And I put him in danger. Even without the Robin thing, he's still in danger just by virtue of being my ward. The kidnapping threats come in all the time. And the rumors he's had to endure, the insinuations"

They lapsed into silence hat stretched on for several minutes, both caught up in his own thoughts.

"He's happy now with you, with us, and he belongs here." Alfred sighed. "I do miss him so. This house is entirely too quiet without him here."

Bruce studied the other man and smiled. "I thought the music made you crazy and the mess drove you to distraction."

"It does." He sipped the Earl Grey. "And I miss it."

At the Steadwell Academy the office secretary had finally admitted to being the one who had told the tabloid about the problem with the Grayson boy. Well, no, she didn't have anything against Mr. Wayne or anything, but everyone had to understand—she was a single parent and they'd offered her almost fifty thousand dollars. What else was she supposed to do? She hadn't meant to cause a problem, really she hadn't, but that was a lot of money and she just took the opportunity that God had given her. She had been praying for a miracle but then had read that passage about God helping those who help themselves and she had seen it as a sign.

After she was fired without references she took the school password and hacked the boy's records. The bidding war began in earnest.

Dick was headed out the kitchen door when Tom Weidman turned on the kitchen light. He'd heard the kid walking around, knew he was up to something. "It's two in the morning, where do you think you're going?"

"For a walk."

"Back to bed, please."

"Fuck off." Dick started out the door.

Tom put his hand on he boy's arm, surprised at the strength there. "You get your ass back inside here. I've had about as much of your crap as I'm going to take." Dick gave him one of his glares. He was good at it when he tried and he wanted Weidman to lay off, big time.

"Then go back to bed yourself and you won't have to deal with it."

"Who are you meeting? Wayne?"

"I'm going for a walk, I said that. Now fuck off. I said that, too."

"While you're in this house you're our responsibility. I know—not that you've made any secret of the fact—you'd rather be back home. I know that you're angry and that's unfortunate, but that's the hand you just got dealt. We have bent over backwards to make you comfortable and you've done everything you can to be rude and obnoxious to me and my family and I'm fed up with your pissy attitude, do you hear me?"

"Like a bell."

"Now what were you going to do out there? You do drugs?"

"âYeah, that's it. I'm going to meet some friends so we can get high. Asshole."

"Dick, stick a damn sock in it."

"I don't do drugs, OK? I'm just going for a damn walk."

"I'll go with you."

"Go to hell. I want to take a walk and I want you to leave me the fuck alone. You think I don't know you're the one who made the report to the principal and got this whole mess started? You don't know what you've done, you have no fucking idea. Bruce never touched me, you jackass. He loved me and I love him—he's the only father, he's the only damn family I had left and you screwed it up."

Jerking his arm loose, he slammed out the door, down the back steps and across the small backyard. Tom went out the door after him and managed, just barely, to keep the kid in sight. The boy could move when he wanted to.

Jesus, he knew the kid was upset and hurting and angry. He did, he understood that, but he was impossible to deal with. The kid was sullen, rude, refused to engage in anything or anyone. He was uncommunicative and since he was a long sight smarter than either Tom or Nancy, made mincemeat of them if they challenged him—and he'd admitted that Wayne had hit him at least once, He couldn't see that he needed to be protected, he was too caught up in it to see that he was in danger if he stayed where he was.

The only time he'd managed pleasant was the afternoon Amber was practicing her cheerleading routine in the back yard and Dick had shown her the right way to do a standing back tuck and a few other basic moves as well. The two kids had gotten into a small friendly competition of gymnastics moves and Dick had blown her away, he was obviously far and away out of her league—but somehow had done it without hurting her feelings. In fact, watching out the window Tom acknowledged that the kid was really good. Damn good. He was good enough that Tom almost started to believe that he really could have been hurt trying an impossible move on the high bar.

He was moving so easily that afternoon they had forgotten and it was Nancy who had yelled at them all for allowing Dick to do those things with broken ribs. Instead of being angry, Dick had laughed and said he worked hurt all the time, it was just part of the game.

Thinking back, Tom wondered what game Dick was referring to.

Dick was still annoyed at himself as he jogged to the park where Clark had said he'd meet him. He was flying in from Metropolis just to talk to Dick, to help him out and that jerk, Weidman, had almost screwed it up. One didn't stand up Kal. You just didn't, especially not when he was doing you a favor. He was meeting Clark to see what ideas he had to help them. He'd already agreed to testify for Dick and Bruce and Lois said she would, too. Judges loved celebrities. Plus Clark said he'd managed to sabotage some sleazy tabloid crap that was supposed to hit the streets in a day or so. That printing press just plain up and died. What a shame. And he was going to write a rebuttal editorial for both the planet and the network news if it actually went to court.

Clark was great.

Tom stayed in the shadows when caught up to Dick who was standing by the jungle gym in the park, talking with some man. Tall, dark haired, at first Tom thought it was Wayne, but no—it was someone else. He looked familiar, he was—no. What would Dick be doing talking toâ? Was he trying to load the publicity or something? Was he passing messages to Wayne through this guy? Was he trying to fight the tabloids?

Knowing the circles Wayne moved it, it was possible that the kid would knew the man, but why would Dick be talking to Clark Kent?

The Grayson kid was playing in the major leagues here.

Son of a billionaire, indeed. He lived in a different world than the rest of the slobs on the planet.

Privately Clark had wondered why no one had ever cited Bruce for child endangerment or neglect or something long before this. The two men had words more than once about the foolishness of allowing a child to do the things Bruce encouraged and the fact that Dick was still alive and in one piece was a testament to talent and luck—with emphasis on the latter.

If this caused Dick to hang up the mantle of being Robin, so much the better, as far as Clark was concerned. He liked the kid a lot and it scared the hell out of him to know how the boy spent his nights, the kid should be playing computer games or hanging out with his friends or something normal, not swinging from buildings while dodging bullets. Clark had been concerned about the boy for years now.

But to take him away from the home he'd lived in for the last seven years, to take him away from the people who loved him the most and who he felt save with—that was just wrong.

Bruce was a long way from being a perfect parent, but that he loved Dick wasn't in question. Clark had seen them together too many times to not know that for as fact. He would never knowingly hurt the boy; never do anything to harm him.

Well, he did tend to forget that Dick was as young as he was, but that was almost understandable. Dick was so smart, so talented and so competent that it was easy to forget that he was a teenager and a young one at that.

Clark had seen Bruce slap Dick that one time and Clark didn't square with that even a little, but it had been an isolated incident and Bruce knew he'd be watching in case it happened again.

Seeing how distraught Dick was about this, knowing how vital his connection to Bruce was, he'd do what he had to keep them together—and so would the rest of the League. Everyone liked Dick. They'd all help him if they could.

Clark knew that teacher was still watching them from behind the tree over there. He was a good man, but he was wrong about this. He was concerned, and that was good, but it was misplaced.

One way or another, Dick had to win this one He had to. He had everything riding on it. And so did Bruce.

Later, back in the small bed, Dick was unable to shut off his thoughts enough to sleep. Thank God tomorrow was Saturday and they'd probably let him sleep in for a change. It wasn't that he liked to just lie around, but he was flat out tired, exhausted.

Lying there he wondered again, for the thousandth time, why Bruce hadn't tried to contact him. OK, sure, there was a court order preventing that but since when had that kind of detail ever slowed down the Bat? If Bruce wanted to see him, he would, period.

The only answer was that Bruce didn't want to talk to him. He didn't and Dick didn't even blame him.

Bruce knew that he'd lied about being hurt and he was pissed. He hated when Dick worked hurt and he'd made that clear enough times that it should have sunk in but Dick had wanted to show him the new move after he had it nailed. He wanted to impress him and show himâwell, he just wanted to surprise Bruce. That was all and now everything had fallen apart so fast he couldn't believe it.

And Bruce probably blamed him for the whole thing with DYFS, too—and he was right. It was his fault, all of it. If he hadn't gotten hurt than stupid Tom Weidman wouldn't have tried to play savior and the damn phone call wouldn't have been made in the first place.

Bruce wouldn't be dealing with interrogations and cops and caseworkers and the press and having to spend Christ knew how much money on fucking lawyers and—it was all his fault. All of it, every single bit of it.

If he just hadn't tried that stupid move or if he'd just managed to catch the damn bar then none of this would have happened.

God, he was such a screw up.

And he was being a prick to Nancy Weidman and Amber. He'd even been nasty to Dr. Leslie—he knew at and he felt bad about it, but—shit, all he wanted was to just go home. That's all.

He wanted to sleep in his own bed with his own stuff around and his own phone. He wanted to fly with Bruce again and see his real friends and have Alfred greet him after school with a warning to wipe his feet and hang up his jacket and then eat the cookies he's made ten minutes ago.

He was sick of being stared at in school and knowing that the paparazzi were following him. He hated that everyone thought Bruce was some kind of child molester and that he was Bruce's piece on the side.

God, Bruce had done everything for him, given him everything and saved his life in every way a person can save another person and all he was getting for it was a mess.

And it was all his fault.

The hearing was next week. He'd think of something by then.

TBC

7/27/04

Title: Concerned Part 5

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce

Rating: PG-13

Summary: A search warrant could make trouble at the hearing

Warnings: None

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

This is self-betaed. Mistakes, large and small are mine, all mine, gosh darn it.

I am neither a caseworker nor a legal expert of any kind. The legalities in this chapter, and others, are researched and my best guesses but I make no promises that they're completely accurate. Go with the flow, such as it is. I also owe the computer info to my gearhead son. You know what they say; if you want to know about high tech, ask the teenager next door. Thanks, Jamie.

**Concerned**

Chapter Five 

"Dick? Are you awake?"

"Dick?"

"My parents had to go out and they want me to make sure that you're OK. Do you need anything? Dick?"

He opened his eyes and felt like crap. Amber was standing just inside the door of the small bedroom and he wished, with all his heart and soul that she would go away. "I'm fine, thanks."

He waited for her to leave but she just stood there.

"Maybe after you get up you could show me some more moves? I mean if your ribs feel OK?"

"âYeah, sure. Gimme a minute."

She just stood there. "God, your eyes are the most amazing color."

"Is there anything else?"

"My father said that you're not supposed to be left alone."

"Why not?" Like he didn't know.

"He thinks that you may try to run away or something." She stared at him. "Will you?"

"Not until I have something to eat." She didn't smile. "I'm not going to run away but I'd like to get up."

"âOK."

"I'm not wearing anything."

"OK."

He waited. She just stood there with a serious expression on her face. She had a mission—she was his fucking prison guard. Fine. Whatever. And if she wanted to cop a look, what the hell, it was just standard equipment. He tossed back the covers, stood up, grabbed some clothes and brushed past her on his way to the bathroom. Her face was the color of Robin's vest—like he cared. After a moment she called through the door, "Are scrambled eggs OK? It's all I know how to cook."

"âSure." God, it was going to be a long day.

An hour later she had him watching cheerleader practice, the girls were giggling and he wanted to be back at the manor almost more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. They seemed to think he was Amber's boyfriend—wonder how they got that idea?—and when he told them they were just friends (and even that was a stretch as far as he was concerned) they lightened up slightly, though there were still too many whispers about how cute he was. When he demonstrated how to do the round off/handspring combos they were having trouble with they paid attention and when he showed them a double back lay out with a twist they were convinced that he could probably walk on water. And they thought he was cute, too.

God.

It was stuff he'd been doing since he was seven. He didn't tell them he was one of three people in the world who could turn a quad and that he could join the US Gymnastics team with a phone call, practically. Ever since Robin had done that exhibition at the America's Cup in Madison Square Garden last year, they'd been calling him about it. Well, they'd been calling Robin about it, anyway.

He had thanked them and said he was flattered then told them that he didn't have time.

Practice over, finally, he and Amber headed off for a pizza lunch at the local place. The other girls, thank God, hadn't joined them. He had the feeling they were leaving the lovebirds alone.

Sitting in a booth with their slices she wanted to talk. "My dad is really pissed off at you."

Dick didn't care. He wasn't all that thrilled with old Tom at the moment himself.

"He thinks that you're like one of those kidnap victims who ends up falling in love with the guys who kidnapped them and that's why you've been so snotty since you got here."

"Bruce didn't kidnap me and just drop it." End of subject.

"âDid you really grow up in a circus?"

He nodded.

"How cool is that? Is that where you learned gymnastics?"

He nodded while drinking a coke. "We, my parents and I, had a trapeze act. We were flyers."

"And they were killed in a fall?"

"I was eight. Bruce took me in." He'd accepted it years ago. He knew strangers weren't always tactful.

"He adopted you?"

"Sort of, yeah. He's my guardian."

"Did he do all the stuff everyone is saying he did?"

"He didn't do any of it, it's all bullshit. He's good to me and if he hadn't given me a home I'd have ended up in some shitty foster home."

"So are you all going to have to go to court about this?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe. I'll get back home, though, one way or another."

"My parents said that if they don't let you go back to where you were living that you could stay with us. They'd adopt you."

Jesus. If he had to move heaven and hell, he'd get back to Bruce.

"Mr. Wayne, do you have anything to say about the investigation concerning your ward?"

"Can you give us a statement, sir?"

"Will there be a press conference?"

"Where is your ward living now?"

"Is there any truth to the charges, Mr. Wayne?"

"We know he was treated for broken bones and lacerations at a clinic in the city the night he was removed from your home, could you comment about that, sir?"

Nancy had just taken the steaks out to Tom for the grill, Amber was on the phone to one of her friends and Dick was holed up in his room again on his computer. She knew he was hurting, but if the boy would make an effort to meet them even half way it would make all the difference in the world.

"Dick? May I come in?" She heard something she hoped was a 'yes' and opened the door. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, computer on his lap, typing. "What are you doing there?" She was trying for friendly, not confrontational.

"Talking to a friend." He saw the look on her face. "Not Bruce."

"One of your school friends?"

Screw this. "Garth lives in one of the cities in Atlantis. He's a prince there. I know him through Bruce's contracts with their government." OK, that was a lie, but who cares? Besides, it was the cover story they'd all agreed on.

"Oh, my." What did you say to something like that? "He sounds very exotic. You must have met all sorts of interesting people."

"I guess."

"Amber said you two had a nice time today."

"âDid you want something?"

She sat on the end of the bed. He was still so angry, the poor thing. This must be his worst nightmare. "I just wanted to say how sorry I am about everything that's happened, dear. I know you think you want to go home, but we all just want to make sure that it's what's best for you. So many people are concerned about you—you have no idea."

He stared at her, seeming to fight for some sort of control. "You don't know me, all I am to you is a charity case you can use to make yourself feel good about helping. 'Poor orphan kid, needs to be protected and found a good home'. I've heard it before—I'm a regular Oliver Twist to everyone. But you know what? None of the people who have butted themselves into my life know anything about me—or Bruce, either. You think you have it all figured out—he took me in so he could either use my ass or use me as a punching bag or use me as a beard for whatever the fuck else he's supposed to be doing." He was breathing hard. Furious. "You're all full of shit. All he did was give me a home and treat me well and take care of me. That's it."

"Dick, sweetie"

"That's it. That's all he did."

"Honey, he hit you and"

"Once. Because I cut school and stole one of his cars. Are you going to tell me you never spanked Amber? Never? Not once?" She didn't say anything. "I thought so."

"Dick, honeyâhonestly, we're just trying to help you." She expected another outburst and so was surprised when he gave her a real answer, his anger deflated, at least for the moment. His voice was quiet.

"I know that. But the thing is, I don't want any help, OK? Bruce is, he's the only family I have left, him and Alfred. After my parents died he's the only one who understood what it was like because he's been through it. He's tough sometimes but he loves me—like a father or a mentor. I'm not his punching bag. I'm not a piece of ass to him, he's not into little boys, but you know what? If he did want that from me I'd probably give it to him. I'd give him anything he wanted. When he hit me it was because I'd screwed up. I can't ever repay him for what he's done for me, it's not possible and knowing what he's being dragged through because I screwed up againâJesus."

He was near tears, his breath had gone ragged and Nancy saw the child break through the tough façade Dick had been hiding behind since he'd arrived. In seconds she had her arms around him and felt his rigidly held body relax as his resolve broke down. She held him as he cried.

"Mom? Dad says the steaks are ready." She turned her head to where Amber was standing in the doorway, shaking her head. After watching for a second, the girl left.

Slowly Dick cried himself out while Nancy held him and rubbed his back and shoulders, careful of his ribs. Finally, after long minutes, he quieted, still while being held. "I'm sorry." It was spoken against her shoulder. "I've been awful since I got here."

"You've had reason."

"You've been nice to me. I've been horrible to you."

"It's alright, honey."

"No it isn't. Bruce would be angry if he knew. And Alfred would be disappointed in me."

"They both mean a great deal to you, I know that." He drew a ragged breath and nodded, still against her. "Tom knows that, too."

"Tom is the one who started this."

"He was doing his job, Dick. He has to report potential abuse by law. He had no choice. And the school had no choice but to call it in."

He pulled away from her, sitting up and wiping at his face. She handed him a tissue from the box by the bed. "I know that, but this isn't a normal case. It's in all the papers and the magazinesâNo matter what the outcome is, it will always be hanging over us. Bruce will be that rich guy who was accused of hitting his kid. It won't ever go away."

"If he's found innocent"

Dick stopped her with a look. He'd lived with the press all his life. He knew better. "These stories will be filed. It won't ever go away."

He was right. "âLook, go wash your face and come down for dinner. You'll feel better if you have something to eat."

Fat chance, but she was trying to be nice to him and he'd been a prick since he'd arrived. He nodded to her and she stood up, putting her hand on his head. "It will all turn out, you'll see. When is the hearing set for?"

"Monday at ten." This was Saturday.

"Maybe that will be the end of it then."

Dick knew better. This was probably going the distance.

And he hoped that he wouldn't throw up dinner.

The next morning Bruce was down in the cave when Barbara's voice came over the speaker without preamble.

"I've just learned that the local police have been issued a warrant to search Tom Weidman's home and that it's good starting today."

There could only be one reason. "They want to search Dick's belongings?"

"That would be my guess. Does he have anything with him that might be a problem?"

"I think he took his computer with him but he knows better than to leave a trail with that."

"I hope so, he should. It's ten-thirty now. If they're going in it will be soon, if we haven't missed them already. I tried to call him, but he's not answering his cell and the house phone just has a machine on. They must have gone out or something."

Bruce sighed. Well, Dick knew how to be careful. It would be alright.

Dick had been subdued at dinner the night before and hadn't eaten much, but he had been polite and had even helped with the dishes instead of disappearing into his room like he had been doing since he'd arrived. He seemed to have turned some corner and was starting to accept the fact that he was with them for a while, whether he liked it or not.

At least it was a first step.

Sunday morning the Weidman's had gone to the local Protestant church after dropping Dick at the nearby Catholic one in time for the ten o'clock mass. They'd be picking him up after their shorter service let out.

It was unusual for the boy to attend mass, but he'd been raised Catholic and that's where his basic roots were lodged. He'd drop in now and then, often just to sit in the back of some church or cathedral, often not really taking part, just soaking it in. In fact there was a lot about the teachings he didn't agree with but he saw it as a kind of family; you didn't have to agree with everyone all the time to live in the same house.

Or something like that.

Besides, he felt closer to home and his parents when he was sitting in some pew or reciting the Lord's Prayer or Hail Mary. He needed that now. He actually wasn't all that sure how he felt about the Father and the Son and all of that, but it was familiar. It was a link with his past. It was a touchstone for him.

He was standing on the sidewalk when Tom pulled the car around.

The police cars were parked in front of the house when they got back. They hadn't broken down the door or anything; they were waiting for the family to get home.

"Mr. Weidman? I have a warrant to search your home and premises. If you'd unlock the door, I'd appreciate it."

The Weidman's looked shocked, Dick had known it was probably coming and was resigned. He knew how these things worked. He'd been careful, there wasn't much he'd brought with him. His computer was the only thing that could be of any possible interest to them and it was so loaded with security programs and passwords that even Bruce would have trouble breaking in. Barbara might have a chance, but no one with less than her expertise would cut it.

Sure enough, one of the cops had it in his hand.

"You're Richard Grayson?"

He nodded.

"Is this yours, son?"

"Yes, that's my laptop."

"I have to take it as possible evidence."

"I have my school stuff on that. Will I get it back?" In this lifetime?

"We'll try." Not a chance. "Do you have a cell phone or any other electronic devices with you here?"

"I gave my cell to Mrs. Weidman when I got here. There's nothing else."

"Did he receive any letters while he's been here?" They wanted his mail, too. Shit.

Nancy answered. "No, not since he's arrived."

The man handed Dick a receipt for the laptop. "This is it, then."

The police got in their cars and left, lights and sirens off. Not bothering to watch them go, Dick went into the opened house and upstairs to his small bedroom. The drawers had all been gone through and the closet, as had his backpack and they'd looked under the bed and the mattress as well—it was half on the floor along with his clothes.

The scene was almost the same as the night his parents had been killed. The cops had looked all through their trailer to see if there was any connection between the Grayson's and their killers—any love letters indicating an affair or drugs or stolen goods.

That time he'd ended up with Bruce.

Maybe this was some kind of omen, not that Dick believed in them. Maybe he'd end up with Bruce this time, too.

Wordlessly, he set about putting things away. Alfred would expect it of him.

"Bruce? Do you know what programs Dick has loaded on his computer?" Barbara was back on the monitor screen. They knew that the warrant had been used and that several things had been taken as evidence.

"The usual, I guess. That's the one he used for school."

She didn't look happy at incomplete information. "Did he have DEADAIM loaded?"

"I'm not sure. I know it's on his main computer up in his room, but I'm not sure about the notebook. Why?" He knew a lot about programs, but not as much as Barbara.

"Dick IM's his friends, right?"

"Sure he does. What are you getting at?"

"Usually when you IM someone and then end the session the message just disappears. It's gone. If DEADAIM was on his laptop, then whatever he was saying to whomever he was talking with can be recovered. It logs conversations."

"But his machine has every state of the art security system loaded on it. I know it takes three passwords just to open the main page."

"But it's evidence. They can compel him to give them access. If he doesn't, he'll be in contempt of court."

TBC

7/28/04

Title: Concerned Part 6

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce

Rating: PG-13

Summary: The hearing

Warnings: None

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

This is self-betaed. Mistakes, large and small are mine, all mine, gosh darn it.

I am neither a caseworker nor a legal expert of any kind. The legalities in this chapter, and others, are researched and my best guesses but I make no promises that they're completely accurate. Go with the flow, such as it is. This is the preliminary hearing. Depending on the outcome there may be need for a full custody hearing. If they were to lose that, Dick gets a permanent new home and Bruce might face charges of abuse or assault or whatever.

That's the sequence, as I understand it after speaking with a lawyer friend of mine. If I'm wrong, I'm sure someone will let me know and I won't hire my friend should the need arise.

I think I remember that Bill Gates is worth something like $50 billion so that's where I got the number. I figure that Bruce has to be as rich as Bill, y'think? If not he should be, dang it! Works for me.

**Concerned**

Chapter Six 

Nine AM, Monday morning in Gotham Courthouse and the press was waiting in droves. There were TV vans parked out front and police barriers set up to try to control the rest. For what little good they'd do.

Olivia Clarke and a police officer were in the car with him. He declined to speak to either of them.

The car that had picked Dick up half an hour ago had heavily tinted windows but since his picture was public property from all the parties and charity things he'd had to attend with Bruce over the last couple of years, it didn't make much difference. Sure there was supposed to be a gag on his name and photo being used because of his age, but it had already slipped out.

When you were dealing with a case involving someone worth fifty-three billion dollars, there wasn't much that was secret. It was just a fact of life.

Well, OK, they still had a few secrets. That's why they were all here.

It was surreal, but it was fact of his life, at least this week.

As Dick was driven into the building through the garage entrance in a clumsy effort to protect him and was escorted upstairs in the elevator, his mind started wandering a little and he began wondering just what the collective noun for a bunch of reporters and photographers really was.

A gaggle of reporters? A gang? A group?

A Fleet Street Fleet? Flock? Flotilla?

A swarm of writers? A shoal? A school?

A herd of headhunters? A horde?

An exaltation? A chowder? A pack of paparazzi? A colony? A raft? A pod?

Surely there was something, there must be. He'd have to ask Barbara when he got the chance. No, c'mon, pay attention. He had to focus here, this was serious. If the hearing judge decided that the charges—the allegations—were too weak to pursue then they could all just call it a day and go home. If, on the other hand, the judge decided that there was some weight to the suspicions then he would be sent back to the Weidman's for the foreseeable future and the next step would be to prove, or disprove, the charges of neglect and abuse. In that case there would probably be a custody hearing, a real one, to decide if Bruce was a fit guardian and if he was found deficient then there could be a trial about child endangerment or something. If Bruce was found guilty he would end up in prison and Dick would likely end up with a permanent home at the Weidman's.

Well, no he wouldn't. There was no way in hell he'd stay there until he was a legal adult. He'd already made some calls himself and had one of Bruce's legal guys find out the deal about him being given his emancipation if it looked like they were going to lose. In that event the papers petitioning the court would be filed the same day the verdict came in. They were being drawn up just in case.

Just because Dick was fifteen didn't make him dumb and he had his own money to pay the legal costs.

Screw everybody. He'd just be declared an adult and get his own place and he'd be just fine. He could take care of himself if it came down to it. The hell with 'em.

He was led to a paneled outer office with a receptionist and a built in fish tank. What was it about the legal profession and fish? Every law office he'd ever been in had a fish tank.

A school of fish.

The walls were paneled in some dark wood and the carpet was thick enough to muffle any sound. The furniture was leather and expensive. The lamps were brass. The place was a cliché.

The name on the outer door said, in gold, Judge Janice Hunt.

The office had that quiet you get in a library and Dick was told to please just have a seat. Ms. Clarke would talk to the Judge first and he should just wait for his turn. Please don't wander off. He'd be called when they were ready for him. Would he like something? Tea, perhaps? Orange juice? No, thank you, he was fine.

Bruce was here somewhere and Alfred probably was, too. They'd be waiting in another room of course, because they weren't supposed to have any contact. They might try to come up with a story together or Bruce might try to place kick him or something.

Dick sat there for forty-five minutes. He looked through the magazines on the mahogany coffee table in front of him—Field and Stream, Golf Digest and the Wall Street Journal and they were all out of date. Hopeless.

He watched the fish for a while, but they were boring, just swimming back and forth. Lucky that fish weren't too smart or they'd probably be depressed living in that tank. Garth would probably have a comment about that.

He got up and stretched and the receptionist smiled at him then went back to sorting the mail. He used the bathroom.

He started to look through the Wall Street Journal. Wayne Enterprises was down an eighth.

Two hours after he'd arrived the inner door opened and Ms Clarke looked out. "Richard? The Judge would like to speak with you now." He walked over and went in. Livvy smiled at him then left for parts unknown. Probably going to talk to some other cops or case workers or something. Whatever. He knew she wasn't done with him.

The Judge, Judge Hunt, was a heavy woman about sixty years old. She looked smart and she looked kind. Dick's gut reaction was that he liked her. She wasn't wearing her robes, just a woman's business suit and as she got up to shake his hand she smiled at him. She seemed OK in a Janet Reno-ish sort of way.

"Thank you for coming this morning, Richard, and I apologize for the long wait you've had but I was speaking to some of the others so I'd be sure to have all the facts straight. I know that this is difficult for you and we'll try to make this as painless for you as we can. If you'll take a seat we'll get started."

He did as he was asked, sitting in one of the two leather chairs opposite her desk. It was a one on one interview. She was back behind her desk.

"How are you getting along with the Weidman's for now? Any problems?"

You want the long list or the edited version? "They're fine."

"Good. Alright Richard. I think you're more than old enough and you're certainly intelligent enough to tell me what you want to happen here and I think you know what our concerns are." He nodded. "There's a suggestion that Mr. Wayne is not a suitable guardian for you so I need to ask you some questions. You understand that, don't you?"

"Sure I understand it, but it's not true. Bruce is great—he took me in when my parents were killed and he's made sure that I'm alright ever since then. Seven years now. He hasn't done anything to me—he really hasn't. Nothing bad, anyway" He spread his hands in an almost futile gesture. "âI just want to go home."

She smiled at him again, a small smile. She was like you'd want your grandmother to be, kind and smart. Well, he hoped so, anyway.

"The day you went to school when Mr. Weidman saw that you were injured, how did you get hurt, Richard?"

"I was trying a routine, well, a new move on the high bar—I do gymnastics—and I missed the catch. I hit the bar when I fell. That's how my ribs got broken."

"You have a high bar in your home? That must be quite a set up. Where was Mr. Wayne while you were doing this?"

"I think he was upstairs. I'm not really sure, he wasn't there, though."

"Did he know what you were doing in the gym, or wherever you have this equipment?"

"No, he didn't. I wanted to surprise him when I got it right."

Of course, a typical kid thing to do, if it was true. "And when you realized that you were hurt, why didn't you tell either him or" she looked at her notes "Mr. Pennyworth?"

"Because I knew that if I was injured Bruce would cancel plans for a vacation and I didn't want him to have to do that." He started coughing; making his ribs hurt like a bitch.

She poured him a glass of water from the carafe on her desk. "Are you alright?" He nodded. Fine. "Would Mr. Wayne have been angry if he'd had to cancel his plans?"

"He would have been disappointed. He wouldn't have been mad." She gave him an appraising look, seeming to decide if he was lying or not. He couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"On the day you were caught cutting school, you've said you took one of Mr. Wayne's cars and went for a ride, when he saw you afterwards, what did he do?"

Dick knew this was a biggie. Shit, sure Bruce had slapped him, but it wasn't that big a deal. "He was angry that time." He took another sip of water. "He yelled at me and slapped me."

"With the palm or the back of his hand?"

"I think he backhanded me." Dick knew he had. It had hurt a lot more than just a slap.

"Where did he strike you, on what part of your body?"

"Across the face, but it wasn't too hard or anything."

She was looking at her notes again. "It says here that you required an emergency dental appointment because some of your teeth were loosened and that you required three stitches to close a split lip. Had he ever struck you before or since that time? The truth now, Richard."

Oh, shit. It sounded worse than it was. "That was the only time. I swear. And he felt terrible as soon as he did it. He apologized and called the dentist himself and took me over. He was really upset about it."

"And has he ever laid a hand on you since that time?"

"No, never, I swear."

"You're a good student, Richard. According to your records you're close to a 4.0 GPA and it looks like you've never slipped off the honor roll. Does Mr. Wayne push you to study?"

"He doesn't push me to do anything, really. He just let's me know how he feels about something and I take it from here."

"If you bring home a bad grade, are there any repercussions?"

Sure, Robin stays home to study. "He just says that he thinks I can do better so I study harder. I don't get punished or anything."

She nodded and smiled at him, almost an apology, and picked up another file from the pile in front of her. "Now, Richard, you look like you're a healthy young man and I understand that you like to ski and be active. I have a report of the injuries you've been treated for in the last seven years and I would like you to explain a few of them to me. Alright?"

Like he had a choice. "Sure."

"According to this you've broken your leg, your arm—twice, your clavicle, your ankle has been severely sprained four times, the tendons and ligaments in your knee were torn, you've dislocated both of your shoulders and you've been treated for three concussions. That's a lot of injuries, son. Could you tell me about them?"

Jesus, they thought Bruce did all that—of course that's what they thought. Crap, like he could explain it was Joker and Harvey Dent and Catwoman and the rest of the loons.

"Sometimes I go too fast when I ski—I hot dog and Bruce yells at me about it all the time, sometimes I catch an edge or something, y'know? And I just started snow boarding a couple of years ago—I like the pipes and if they're icy you can wipe pretty badly. And gymnastics can rack you up if you miss a move, like with my ribs. That's all. Just stuff. I do a lot of hard tricks and some of them take a while to nail. That's all."

God, he was rambling and he sounded lame.

"Bruce didn't hurt me. I know that's what the caseworkers think, but he didn't, just that once and that was because I did a dumbass thing and he was upset. I swear to God, he didn't. I just screw up sometimes with a move and get banged. I swear. Bruce loves me; he doesn't do anything to hurt me. He wouldn't ever hurt me."

She watched him through this speech, judging what he was saying. It sounded rehearsed. He went on.

"You have my records there, you must have read through them—when my parents were killed Bruce was the only one who bothered about me. He was the only one who even noticed me that night. I ended up being locked up in Juvie five hours after Mom and Dad were dead because the caseworker couldn't be bothered to find me a temporary foster home. I spend three weeks in a fucking cell—I didn't even get to go to their funerals because no one thought to get me before the service and by the time they did it was too late—but Bruce found me and got me out of there. He gave me a place to live and he takes care of me. He even went through all the legal crap so that I could stay with him." He took a breath. "Alfred makes sure I get to school and eat and all of that, but Bruce is the one who makes it all happen."

"Richard"

"No, listen to me. They want you to think he's a crappy parent because he forgets my birthday and doesn't always show up at school plays and stuff, but I don't care about that crap, it doesn't matter because I know he'll be there if he can and if he can't then—shit—if he can't he feels really bad about missing stuff.

"Look, Bruce isn't like other people. He runs a big corporation and he's really busy and I know that. It's not some nine to five job, y'know?—that time he left me to go to London? I WANTED to stay home and he had like twenty friends checking up on me all the time. He wanted me to stay with a friend then but I was the one who insisted that I would be alright alone. That was me who did that. I swear, and I WAS fine. I was OK and he knew I would be. He wanted to give me a chance to be on my own and now people are saying it was neglect and abandonment, but I'm not a little kid.

"People think I am because I'm only fifteen, but before Bruce I traveled all over with my parents—did you know I was getting paid to fly in the circus when I was four years old? I even have my own money from that. We went all over Europe and this country—I learned how to speak different languages and—God. "He paused again, pushing that lock of hair out of his eyes before he went on. "Look, I'm a circus rat; I can take care of myself. I don't need someone all the time. I'm not like the kids in school whose big trip was like to Disney World or something. And I saw my parents die in front of me. I'm not like other kids my age. I'm not and Bruce understands that.

"I'm not just some dumb teenager. I've done a lot and I'm not stupid enough to stay someplace where I'm getting beat up.

"Bruce loves me andâ." He ran out of steam. "âI just want to go home."

He sat there, his lips slightly parted, watching her watch him, studying him, watching her make up her mind.

"Thank you, Richard. It's more than clear to me that you're an exceptional young man who's had too many difficult things to deal with the last few years and I know you care about Mr. Wayne very much. I also know how hard this all is for you—I'll try to do what I think is best." She pressed the intercom on her desk. "Karen? Would you please show Richard into the large conference room?" She stood up, Dick's cue to do the same. "I've already spoken with your caseworker and Mr. Wayne. You wait for me in the other room and I'll be there in a few minutes to tell you all my decision, alright?"

He had no choice. There was nothing more he could say to her now. Nodding, he let himself be led down the carpeted hallway.

The room was empty when he went in. It looked like any conference room anywhere. There was a large wooden table, executive chairs, some potted plants and fichus trees. The usual pitcher of water and glasses were on a sideboard. Large windows looked down to the media still gathered down on the street, ten floors below them.

This was such bullshit and it was all his fault. He'd slipped on the damn rope and then he'd gone to school when he knew that he was too hurt to cover. God—now everything was a mess and it was all his fault. Everyone was upset, he'd hurt Bruce and Alfred, there was a fucking feeding frenzy out there and

The door opened and everyone else came in, quickly, quietly. Bruce and Alfred were there along with Bruce's lawyers. He wanted to go over to their side of the table but Livvy Clarke gave him a too bright smile and stood right next to him, her hand on his arm restraining him.

Idiot. Bitch. He hated her as much as he'd ever hated anyone in his life. He just wantedâYeah, she was doing her job. He knew that, but he saw the expression on Bruce's face. He looked nervous and that scared Dick. Even the lawyers looked tense. This was going badly for some reason and he wished he could just tell Bruce how damn sorry he was, how he'd screwed up and how he'd never meant

Judge Hunt came in, closing the door behind her. "Everyone take a seat, please."

She sat at the head of the table, a couple of files placed in front of her.

"I've looked at the preliminary evidence you've all presented and I've spoken to the parties involved. It's clear to me that Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth care deeply about Richard and that caring is obviously returned and mutual. I believe that they wish the best for him and have attempted to provide him with a safe and stable home. However, I'm disturbed about several of the incidents that have come to light. There is no excuse for striking anyone, let alone a child with the force Mr. Wayne evidently used. Also, despite his obvious maturity and intelligence, I'm concerned about the seeming nonchalance with which Richard is permitted to come and go without apparent supervision. In addition to this, the list of documented injuries that was presented to me is frightening in the extreme and I'm forced to wonder how many injuries were not deemed serious enough to warrant professional treatment. There are also serious discrepancies between the reasons the various parties involved or witness to them gave me for all these events. In my judgment, I find that there is sufficient cause to initiate a full investigation into the domestic situation of the concerned parties."

Dick sagged back in his chair. The rest was a mumble to him.

"Richard is hereby remanded into the continuation of protection of the state and shall continue to reside with the Weidman's in temporary foster care. I continue the no contact order between Mr. Wayne and his associates and Richard and they are to have no interaction of any kind until further notice.

"I want it understood by everyone here that I expect you to proceed with all speed to resolve this case. I will not tolerate delaying tactics of any kind and I expect you to have your cases ready to present in a timely manner. I expect and order you all to consider what is in the best interest of Richard as you priority.

"In addition, I impose a gag order on this case. No one is to speak about any part of these proceedings or the subsequent investigation to anyone who is not directly involved in the investigation for any reason under threat of contempt of court. I will not tolerate leaks, ladies and gentlemen and make no mistake about that."

She nodded to the people around the table, rose and walked out.

That was it. Period.

Dick tried to walk around the table to where Bruce and Alfred were sitting, still trying to absorb what had just happened, but he was stopped by Libby Clarke. "I'm sorry, Richard. You heard what the judge said."

He saw Bruce look at him shaking his head slightly as he said, "This isn't over, Dick. We'll win this."

Kevin Rooney touched Bruce's arm. "Mr. Wayne, you're in contempt of the judge's orders."

Dick was being led out. He looked numb which was how Bruce felt at the moment.

"Get my son back. Just get him back."

TBC

7/29/04

Title: Concerned Part 7

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce

Rating: PG-13

Summary: the night after the preliminary hearing.

Warnings: None

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

This is self-betaed. Mistakes, large and small are mine, all mine, gosh darn it.

I am neither a caseworker nor a legal expert of any kind. The legalities in this chapter, and others, are researched and my best guesses but I make no promises that they're completely accurate. Go with the flow, such as it is. I also owe the computer info to my gearhead son. You know what they say; if you want to know about high tech, ask the teenager next door. Thanks, Jamie.

**Concerned**

Chapter Seven 

"Did she just tell us where Dick's staying?" Bruce caught the Judge's mistake as soon as she'd said it.

"Forget it, Bruce. She slipped and that's a first for Jan. You stay away from Dick if you want him back in your house, you hear me? Don't be stupid."

"For God's sake, we already knew—any idiot could follow the car they have taking him to and from school. It's almost as if they want me to violate the no contact rule."

"Well, don't get sucker punched." Kevin stood up. He had work to do and he had to get started. "I'm telling you, don't do anything dumb, Bruce. Patience, OK? That's what you need now. Just be patient."

Bruce sat there for another twenty seconds. "How the hell could this happen?"

How the hell could this have happened? Dick couldn't take in what had just been handed down.

In the judge's office she seemed to be listening to him, seemed like she cared about what he had to say and what mattered to him and what he wanted. She seemed like she saw him as a person, not just a case number.

Shit. He had been so wrong. Completely, totally, absolutely, entirely and utterly wrong. No one would listen to him; no one gave a rat's ass about what he wanted or what he had to say. He was just some dumb kid. Nothing more. Sit down and shut up and let the grown ups decide what's the right thing, son. We care about you; we know what's best. You have to trust us.

Bullshit. It was all bullshit.

Dick was led down the hall, out to the elevator and into the waiting car in the underground garage. He went sat hunched in the corner without saying anything, his face turned towards the window, tuning out the driver, cop and Livvy Clarke. There was nothing to say. He knew what would happen now. There would be more interviews, psychological profiling and analysis, a deposition or two, he'd probably have to go through another complete physical with x-rays of his whole body to try to find any old injuries which had escaped being reported and which would be used as more evidence against Bruce.

The tabloids would have a field day and now that they'd moved beyond the prelim stage, the regular media would jump on the bandwagon as well. The Manor would be under siege, Wayne Corp Headquarters would be inundated and paparazzi would be following him around—hidden, barely, because of the gag order, but getting the pictures for when the case went to court. Someone would slip. Someone would offer enough money and the pictures would get out. They'd appear first in Europe then would hit the Internet. They'd be available in no time.

Any idiot knew that.

Bruce and Alfred would be surrounded whenever they stuck their heads out the door and as for Dick—anyone who had ever passed him on the street or sat next to him in class would be offered money for the whole, exclusive, inside story.

Christ.

This was a fucking nightmare.

And it was his fault.

"Now, Richard, for now nothing much will change. You'll go back to live with the Weidman's and I'll be in close contact with you. The one thing that we do need from you is the password into your computer. The people we have working on it have been unable to open the thing so if you could help us with that we'll be able to get started on that. Alright?"

This woman was an idiot, She expected him to help her pry into his life so she could keep him away from Bruce. Screw this.

"No." In fact there wasn't all that much on the laptop. He had schoolwork there, some memos and his—Dick's—calendar. He had homework and some music downloads. Nothing, really. Thank God he had his two lives separated computer wise. The Robin stuff was on an entirely different hard drive on a different machine. All they'd find was stuff any high school kid would have and he'd done that on purpose since he took the thing to school where anyone could look over his shoulder and see what was on the screen. It wasn't like he had minutes from the last Titan's meeting saved there or anything.

"Richard, please think about it, but we really need to get in there."

"Fuck off."

She seemed taken aback by that. Tough shit.

"Richard, I know you're upset, but if you don't help us that's considered obstruction of justice. You really need to do this."

"The fuck I do. That 'free from unreasonable search' thing in the constitution and the Fifth Amendment covers me too. I don't have to do anything for you so leave me alone."

"You're a minor." The cop in the front seat chimed in. Great. "Basically you do as you're told. You got the password, you give us the goddamned password."

"Screw you." Actually the cop might be right, shit. A minor. Of course. He didn't count as a person.

They kept at him the whole ride back to Weidman's, forty-five minutes of three of them going at him and Dick trying to tune them out. Jesus. The second they turned into the driveway he pulled the door handle—this car actually had them in the back seat—and went in the house, up the stairs and into the crappy little room, door slammed behind him.

He could hear them talking to Tom and Nancy Weidman, telling them how the hearing had gone. That was another thing. The walls in this place were made of paper.

Fuck.

There was a light knock on the door. "Dick? May I come in?" It was Nancy.

"Please? I want to make sure you're alright. I'm concerned about you. We all are."

He opened the door for her, just enough so that she could see him standing, blocking the doorway. "Leave me alone, please. I really don't want to talk to anyone right now."

"I understand, but Livvy wants to see you for just a minute before she goes, will you speak with her?"

God, he was so tired. Whatever. If he saw her she'd go away. He nodded and the woman must have been right there because she was there in about three seconds, by the clock.

"May I come in, Richard?"

Sure, why not? Nothing he wanted mattered. He didn't matter. What mattered was these people justifying their paychecks and covering their butts. They could do whatever they wanted to him, what was one more thing? "I know you're unhappy with the way it turned out this morning, but it's not over yet and we still have work to do. We all have work to do." He gave her a look that was a cross between fury and boredom. Nothing she had to say was anything he wanted to hear. "Please, will you give me the password?"

Christ. If he did she would leave him alone, at least for now. He was sure of it and right now he wanted that more than anything else in the world, well, besides going home. Sighing, taking a spiral bound school notebook from the desk and a cheap pen he wrote down the three passwords, tore out the sheet and handed it to her. There was nothing on the damn computer other than English compositions and Trig homework. It was all nothing. It would waste their time and at least that was some small revenge.

"Now leave me the fuck alone." And at least for now, she did.

"This is just schoolwork and things like that. Here, an essay about 'To Kill A Mockingbird' and this looks like math homework. This is just some stuff for a government class. I'm telling you, there's nothing here."

"Yeah, maybe. Let me check something—bring up 'programs', will you?âThere she isâBingo."

"What?"

"The kid loaded DEADAIM onto this thing. Let me just pull this up...just a minute"

"What the fuck is DEADAIM?"

"Anything the Grayson kid said to any of his friends is still here. Any IM's he traded is locked in here."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding. Let's see who his friends are"

"SirâBruce, please eat something. You'll do none of us any good if you make yourself ill." Alfred had a bowl of soup on a tray, standing in front of where Bruce was sitting in his favorite chair in the study. The fireplace had been lit and the flames gave the only warmth in the room. They weren't nearly enough.

"Alfred, I'm sorry. I just keep seeing the look on his face when that judge gave her opinion. He looked like he did when he first arrived here, remember?"

"Lost, frightened, heart broken."

"I keep thinking that there must have been more that we could have done for him, said something." He uncrossed his legs, stretching slightly. "He was counting on me and I've let him down today. I've failed him—again."

Alfred put the tray on the desk knowing that the food would likely go to waste. "It's not over, you know. There's still much to be done and you know he's counting on you to bring him home at the end of the day."

Bruce ignored the attempt to buck him up a bit. "I was looking at the list of his injuries. Did you realize that he'd been hurt that often? I know I hadn't, and the judge was right—there were a lot of things Leslie didn't deal with, the things you took care of."

"Well, yes, but he's"

"He's a young boy who I put in the position of being beaten and shot at and God knows what all else."

Alfred sat in the chair next to Bruce's. "This accomplishes nothing. You know that as well as I. You allowed him to fulfill his destiny and watched over him while he did so. He is happy being Robin and he would be devastated if it were taken from him, just as he would be devastated if he were not allowed to come home."

"Butâhe might be killed."

The old man sat straighter, if that was possible. "As might you. You've known that for years. Are you having second thoughts at this late date?"

He raised his hand in a gesture of frustration. "Seeing it all laid out, hearing the lapses I've been guilty of. I did hit him and I do forget his birthdays and his school functions. I have put him in danger and I do tend to forget that he's still only fifteen." He was in one of his black moods, Alfred knew them by heart. There was nothing for it but to let him work through it. "Maybe he would be better off somewhere else."

"He would be miserable, as would you. As would I. Look at us sitting here without him. We're incomplete without him. We must have him back and he would entirely agree, sir."

Bruce made a move. He would be alright if Alfred could get him working on this instead of flagellating himself about what had passed today.

Bruce seemed to reach inside to rally himself a bit; he produced the smallest of half smiles. "You're quite right, Alfred. I'll have that soup and then I'll be going out."

"Very good, sir." Now perhaps they would see some progress.

Dick was twisting, thrashing, tangled in the bedding of the small mattress. He was sweating, trying, trying to run, trying to stop it before it happened again. He was almost there, shouting but unheard above the crowd noises. The ropes broke, and his parents fell as they had in his nightmares for seven years. He saw their bodies broken, he saw the blood and he saw his mother's eyes focusing on him as she died. He would never forget that, all his life he would see her looking at him and knowing that he was the last thing she saw. He saw her eyes, his eyes, looking at him and knew there was nothing he could do.

He could never save them and he could never save himself. He still couldn't.

His hands shaking, his breath coming hard, his eyes tearing, he knew that he wouldn't sleep any more that night. He never did after that dream. It was a pattern, one he knew too well.

Silently getting up and putting on his jeans and a tee shirt, he silently slipped out of the house, moving down the quiet street. He ended up at the small park where he'd met Clark a week ago, but this time no one was there.

There was a slight breeze, very slight and he sat on one of the swings, creaking and needing oiling. The moon was about half full, there were a couple pf streetlamps here and there. His feet on the ground, he swung himself gently, just a few inches, back and forth.

It was obvious where this was going. There would be a full custody hearing. Bruce would have the best lawyers in the country who would bring in evidence and character witnesses. The state would present documented proof of his injuries and the times he'd been neglected or ignored or left to fend for himself. There would be too much talk about Bruce's money and his houses. The media would have a field day and a lot of people would make money off of them, maybe even get rich.

But the bottom line was that the deck was stacked. They would lose because they couldn't, wouldn't tell the truth.

He would be declared a ward of the state, assigned a new foster family and that would be that.

Oh, sure, he had his own ideas and plans, but that was how DYFS and their toads were writing the scenario. They thought they knew how it would end, but they were wrong. They wouldn't win. He would. And then they could all go straight to hell.

The boy spoke without looking up. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't. I couldn't sleep so I went for a drive and here you are."

Dick half turned to where Bruce was standing under one of the big trees, shadowed and hard to see. "If anyone finds us together we'll get in trouble."

"Are you alright? This morning you were pretty upset. Alfred has been worriedâso have I."

Dick shrugged. "It sucks, you know?"

"Yes, it does. Do you need anything?"

Dick sniffed a little. He wasn't crying, it was the chill. "I had a nightmare so I came out here for a walk."

"The same one?"

"It's always the same one, ever since they died. I see my mother looking at me as she's dying and then her eyes are still opened, but I know she can't see. Then people pull me away and I'm alone. My father was still alive then, I saw his fingers curl—a reflex or something, but they wouldn't let me go to him."

"Dick, this isn't over."

"It might as well be. You know we'll lose." His voice was detached, calm. The swing squealed again as he moved his weight, swinging in place a few inches.

"Even if we do, you'll be of legal age in less than a year. After that you can do whatever you want."

"I know." He tried to be less pessimistic, just a little. Bruce was here, Bruce needed some cheering up. "But we'll be OK, right?"

"Sure we will." Bruce started away, back to wherever he'd parked his car. "Dick? Are you alright? Really?"

Why of course I am, Bruce. I'm a fifteen year old orphan, I've been forcibly removed from your house, I'm living with strangers, I can't see my friends because I'm being watched. I have a couple of court cases hanging over my head. The fucking press is waiting to find out what exactly you did to me all these years and the girl in the next room wants to jump my bones. It's peachy.

"I'm OK. You know me, Bruce—circus rat—I can take it. I'm fine."

"Well, good." There was a pause before Bruce asked the next question. "How did you get hurt? Something happened on that last patrol, didn't it?"

Dick exhaled. So Bruce really didn't know about it. "I slipped on the rope, remember it was raining that night? I slipped and misjudged a landing. I hit a wall or chimney or something."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"It wasn't that big a deal." He almost laughed. "Well, I didn't think so, anyway. Everyone else seems to."

"Yes, they do. I have to get back, but be careful, you hear me? We'll win this thing. You take care."

No, we won't, Bruce. "Sure. You too."

Bruce disappeared and a minute later Dick heard a car door followed by the engine starting. It sounded like the Jag.

Standing up, Dick turned to go back to Weidman's. He'd gone about half a block when Tom came out from between a couple of parked cars and stood in front of the boy.

"This is the second time you've met someone in the middle of the night, leaving the house without telling us. This isn't going to happen again, do you understand? Bruce Wayne may have let you wander the around at all hours, but you have a different set of rules when you live in my house."

"Then it's a good thing that I won't be living there much longer, isn't it, Tom?"

TBC

7/30/04

Title: Concerned Part 8

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce

Rating: PG-13

Summary: the days before the custody hearing.

Warnings: None

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

This is self-betaed. Mistakes, large and small are mine, all mine, gosh darn it.

I am neither a caseworker nor a legal expert of any kind. The legalities in this chapter, and others, are researched and my best guesses but I make no promises that they're completely accurate. Go with the flow, such as it is.

**Concerned**

Chapter Eight 

The next three weeks were as bad as Dick thought they'd be. He was watched at the Weidman's house, he was watched at school and he knew that the paparazzi were watching him from their cars and behind the bushes and from their stepladders, which they used to look in windows. He knew and hated the sound of motor driven cameras and knew that it was just a matter of time before the pictures would appear in some magazine or newspaper in Europe, despite the gag order, and then there they'd be on the internet and from there it would become a free for all.

He was stared at in class and when he walked down the hall he heard the whispers and the snickering. One day in the cafeteria Joe Schmidt made a comment, 'Miss the comforts of home and hearth, Grayson?' and though he knew he was being stupid, Dick threw the first punch. Joe was laid out and Dick was in the principal's office with an earful and a warning to keep a lid on it.

Then there were the other kinds of attention. There were the ones, teachers and a group of girls, who seemed to think he needed comfort or understanding. They would bake him cookies or bring him lunch, equating food with happiness or something. The girls would sit next to him in the library or study hall and ask if he wanted to come over after school to go over the history or the math and mention that their mother's were great cooks or, better yet, that their parents wouldn't be home til late and he seemed so stressed that maybe they could help...

He told them that he had a court ordered police car picking him up after school and he had to be in it or the judge would be upset.

He managed to get himself a new cell by calling Wally from a pay phone, having him buy a new phone and open an account under his name—with Dick promising that he'd pay him back. The account wasn't connected to either Bruce Wayne or Dick Grayson and the authorities would have no reason to even know that he and Wally West were friends. He should be able to use it with no one being the wiser. Wally had come over that night and delivered it with no one being the wiser.

At the Weidman's he became more withdrawn and both the adults wondered what he was doing til all hours in his room. When they questioned him he would just say that he was reading or doing homework, but they didn't believe him. He knew this and he didn't care.

In fact he was making plans for what he would do after the custody hearing was over, after they lost.

In the meantime he was forced, day after day, to attend all the things he had dreaded and which he'd known he'd have to go through. There were the physicals to find any injuries that might have been caused by his being abused. He had to submit to psychological profiling and sessions to determine if he was adversely affected by what he'd lived with while he was in the Manor. He had to give depositions about his life and the incident where he hurt his ribs and he knew that whatever Bruce said to the lawyers wouldn't jive with his story. The kept bringing up his life in the circus and his parent's deaths and he hated that. He really hated that. They were his parents, this was part of his life and he felt like it was being taken away and twisted into something dirty and sordid—just like his relationship with Bruce and Alfred were being made to sound dirty and suspect. It was like all the good things, the closeness of the circus family, the love his parents and later Bruce had showered him with and taught him were now defiled. They no longer belonged to him, they were public property—or close enough and for the first time he really did feel abused.

The authorities probed and prodded into all his secret mental and emotional places, or all the ones they thought were there, and he felt like he was being raped. He had no control over what was happening. No one listened to him and no one cared what he wanted or needed.

He was still that cog. He had a mental image of Charlie Chaplin in Modern Times, the little man caught in the big machine. The only difference being that now the little man had his face.

The deck was stacked against him and he knew that what the ruling would be. He was sure of it. Bruce probably knew it, too and Dick was almost more upset about Alfred having to go through this than anything else that was going on.

Alfred had been his own rock for the last seven years. He had baked cookies and made sure his homework was done. He had kept track of what clothing sizes he wore and made sure he had whatever he needed. He had cooked and carpooled, tended to his illness's and his scrapes and stitches. Alfred had hugged him when he cried with his nightmares or his homesickness for his old life and he had taken him, whenever asked, no matter what time, to visit his parent's graves.

And now people looked at Alfred like he was a monster and that broke Dick's heart. It infuriated him as well, but there was nothing he could do now, not yet.

It was just all so wrong and it was all his fault.

What Bruce had said in the playground was true—he would no longer be a minor after his next birthday, but that was almost a year and a year was a long time. He couldn't stand this for another year.

But he had a back up plan and it would be what saved him this time. He knew it would. It had to.

God, it really had to.

Bruce knew that the lawyers were worried. It would have taken a complete moron not to know. All you had to do was look at the controlled panic and the urgency every time he met with them to know it.

They thought they were going to lose.

The evidence was against them, Bruce knew it and so did Alfred.

That might have been what hurt Bruce the most, even more than what Dick was going through, nightmarish as it was, what Alfred was dealing with was almost worse.

Dick had been a grandson to Alfred, a surrogate son, a student, a listening post, and a bright light. He had put Dick up on a higher pedestal that he'd ever had for Bruce when he was younger.

Alfred didn't think Dick was perfect—he knew him too well for that, but he was as close as the old man ever thought he'd get. He was the almost perfect child, the almost perfect son. Over the last seven years Dick had thrown open the curtains, both literally and figuratively, for them all. He had brought lightness to the house, laughter and music. He was unpredictable and fey yet intelligent and studious. He was gentle, kind and yet would go toe to toe for something he felt strongly about. Where Bruce and Alfred were emotionally closed and reserved, Dick wore his heart on his sleeve, where they were circumspect, he was outgoing. He had overcome the tragedy of his parent's deaths without forgetting them. He was still their son but he was also Bruce's—and Alfred's as well.

And Alfred loved the boy as dearly as if he was his own grandson.

And Bruce loved Alfred as much as he loved Dick.

The old man had given his own deposition regarding how the boy had changed their lives but when the questions had turned to the long list of Dick's injuries he had been hard pressed to explain them in a way that didn't look incriminating. He left the lawyer's office looking distraught; believing he had failed to protect his two sons and Bruce ached for him.

The police had gone through Dick's private messages and found that the rich really are different and it wasn't just because they had more money.

"Who's this? Gatlan.gov?"

"Like I knowâwaitâAtlan.gov? Isn't that like the Atlantis government? Didn't they just joint up, go partners with Verizon? I read that somewhere. You think the kid has a fish friend?"

"Wayne might have some contracts or something. I guess"

Well, what are they saying?"

"Here"

"_Hey G, you on? Bruce is on my case again—I don't make honor roll he says no Aspen this year."_

"_Like when did you ever not make the honor roll?"_

"_yeah, whatever. It's cake but he's stressing. 'sup wid youse?"_

"_Arthur is mad because Tula was in my room when he came by for a surprise breakfast meeting. Really angry."_

"_Slut"_

"_jealous"_

"_Yeah, I am. Why does he care? You grounded?"_

"_I think Mera cut him off and yes, supposedly, but she just comes here."_

"_Slut"_

"_jealous"_

The cops looked at one another. "So the kid has a friend banging his girlfriend underwater. They do that there?"

"Whatever. Teenagers—the same everywhere. Think he got to go to Aspen, poor kid? What's this one?"

"_WGâRoy there?"_

"_noânot seeing him now."_

"_Because?"_

"_he's doing drugs again"_

"_Shit—you sure?"_

"_Yes"_

"_which ones?"_

"_H"_

"_shit"_

"_any ideas?"_

"_maybe. Intervention?"_

"_he'd tune it out"_

"_I'll try something. He with Ollie?"_

"Nominally" 

"So he has druggie friends. That's interesting. You think Wayne knows?"

"You think a few billion dollars buys some good shit?"

"The kid's clean, Jim. All the tests they ran on him? It looks like he doesn't even drink beer."

"What's this one?"

"_Hey Dick, BW know about you and Barbara doing the deed?"_

"_Yeah, right. I'm completely stupid."_

"_He has to know"_

"_He knows everything. I know. THINKS he doesâexcept he doesn't"_

"_You scammed him?"_

"_looks like"_

"_Chalk one up for you. You gonna tell him?"_

"_In your dreams"_

"_How OLD is she, anyway, like 30?"_

"_Bite me. 21"_

"_Close enough. She knows you're jailbait, right?"_

"_Like Commissioner Daddy would do anything"_

"_BW know about your social life?"_

"_Like he cares what I do. The man is busyâI mean the man is BUSY. I keep my grades up, keep my mouth shut and be where I'm supposed to be and life's calm"_

"_what about AP? He has to know"_

"_he bought the condoms"_

"_fucking go alf! The dude is too cool for school"_

"_What are you, living in the cast album of Grease? Alf is OK."_

"_and how's Babs?"_

"_Babs is great. I like her."_

"_You serious? You mean out of bed, too?"_

"_I mean I like her alot. She's amazing"_

"_dude, you are so whipped."_

"_bite me"_

"Is the kid talking about Commissioner GORDON'S daughter? Jesus."

"Precocious tyke."

"Evidently. You think we can use some of this stuff? How old are these things?"

"From the week the case was reportedâYes, Jimmy, we can use some of this stuff."

Nancy was in the kitchen, it was Sunday morning, the kids were both sleeping in and she was drinking her coffee with Tom reading the paper. She put down her cup. "He was out last night walking around again. Are you going to say anything to him about it?"

"I have, he swears at me, insults me and ignores me." He went on reading the paper. "Very pleasant."

"I know it's hard, but I just feel so awful for him. He's lost his real family, he's just lost his long-term foster family, at least for now, and he may well lose them permanently. Did I tell you that I went over to Wayne Manor yesterday to pick up some fresh clothes for him?"

He looked up at her. "No, you didn't. Impressive, is it?"

"In it's way. It's enormous, of course and the grounds are a showplace but what struck me was the butler. He's this very dignified Brit, maybe sixty or so and he just seemed so sad, kept asking me if 'Master Dick' was alright, was he happy, was he eating, was he sleeping well—all that sort of thing. I felt so sorry for him."

"Alfred Pennyworth is named in the case as neglecting Dick."

"I know that, but he's just seems so heartbroken. He took me up to Dick's room, which is twice the size of this entire floor, and besides the clothes he gave me a couple of things he though Dick would like to have with him."

"Like what?"

"A picture of his parents and a chess set he said Bruce had given him for Christmas."

"Nice chess set?"

"Well, yes, but I think Alfred just wanted Dick to have something from his home which was connected to Bruce. It was so sad."

Tom put the paper down on the table. "You know we have to talk about what happens if the hearing goes against Wayne tomorrow. Are we going to take Dick in or not?"

"I know. He doesn't have any real family left, does he?"

"I think there's a grandfather in Europe, but I doubt if the state will allow him to live with an elderly relative five thousand miles from here. It would be too much of a culture shock for him and I'm not even sure if he understands Romanian or German or Hungarian or whatever he'd have to speak there."

Nancy poured them each some more coffee. This morning caffeine was a good thing. "So do we take him in? He's so angry—he's not easy to have around and that won't get any better if he's pulled out of his home."

"Tell me about it. But if we don't take him, he'll end up back in the foster care system and an angry fifteen year old won't be easy to place. There might be some friends of Wayne who would take him."

"If Wayne loses the hearing the judge won't let Dick go with one of Bruce's friends. And there's something else. He'll be going to college in a couple of years—can we afford another child?"

Tom gave her a look. "According to Wayne's financial disclosures he's set up trust funds for Dick that are now worth over nine figures."

"Oh my."

"Oh my, indeed. So that's not a problem."

"Not a big one, no." They actually smiled at that. They were just barely paying the bills and sleeping thirty feet away was a kid worth over a hundred million dollars—if not more. No, college wasn't a problem. "Do you think he'd want to stay with us?"

"We'd have to ask him. Maybe, but he blames this on you and that would become a very big problem if he ended up here for good." She took another sip of her coffee. "That anger of his is frightening—no I'm not afraid he'll hurt me, I'm afraid for him. He's so upset now that I don't know what he'll do if he's taken away from Wayne. All he says is that he wants to go home. He won't be easy to have in the house. He's very smart and he has more resources than we do if he wants to leave."

"When he gets up we can talk to him."

"I am up and I want to go with Bruce and Alfred." His voice startled them; he was standing barefoot in the doorway, his hair wet from a shower and wearing his usual jeans and a tee shirt. He may be richer than the entire town, but he wasn't a spendthrift.

"We know that honey, but we have to at least give some thought to what may happen in case"

"In tomorrow case the judge decides that Bruce gets his jollies out of beating me up when he's not ignoring me?"

"Dick"

"Don't worry about it. I've already made plans that let you off the hook." And with that he turned around disappearing up the half flight of stairs to his room. In a couple of minutes they heard the front door close.

Nancy looked at Tom as the door slammed. "You know, I think he means it."

"I'm sure he does."

"So what do we do?"

"See what happens in the morning."

Dick was back in the small playground, sitting on the swing and talking on his new cell. "So you're sure everything is ready?âGood, greatâNo, don't do anything until the judge reads the decisionâBecause there's a small chance that it won't be necessary, that's whyâJust hold off until we know for sureâOK, I'll see you tomorrow."

He dialed another number. "Hey, it's me, what are you doing?...So come hereâNo, I mean now, OK?âI'll even pay for pizza."

Twenty seconds later Wally was sitting on the swing next to him. "Hey, Dick, you look like shit, man. You OK?"

"Nice to see you, too." He was swinging just a few inches, like the other night—sitting in place and just moving his feet on the ground. "The hearing is tomorrow, ten in the morning. We're going to lose."

"I know, Barry told me." Wally wasn't looking at him, embarrassed or something. "That sucks, I'm really sorry."

"Yeah."

"What happens then?"

Dick shrugged. "I have a plan B."

"Of course you do. It gonna work?"

"Yeah, sure. My plans always work, you know that."

Wally smiled at the bravado. "And if B doesn't work than C or D will, right?"

Dick smiled. Wally was always so sure he could pull things off. "Right." God, he was scared. "Pizza?"

Just then Wally's phone went off, he checked the called ID. "Can't, dude, Barry wants me." He got up, but paused a moment. "You'll be alright, Dick. You're the toughest person I know. You always have been and we're here, y'know? The Titans, we're here for you, OK? You call us, we'll call you. You'll get through this."

That made Dick's eyes sting and he was close to loosing it, but he nodded. "I know."

Wally was gone.

If plan B didn't work he'd think about taking the gas pipe, for God's sake. There were no plans C or D. It had to work.

Picking up the cell again he punched in another number, his voice still choked. "Barbara? Can I see you? I can get a bus and be there in an hourâThanks."

TBC

8/1/04

Title: Concerned Part 9

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce

Rating: PG-13

Summary: conclusion

Warnings: None

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

This is self-betaed. Mistakes, large and small are mine, all mine, gosh darn it.

Stressing here that though I've spoken to lawyer friends about the legalities I'm not a lawyer nor do I have any pretensions of being one. This is my best effort at court and it is researched, but is likely not perfect. Ride with the tide, here, please. And Charleneâdon't swallow your gum laughing or hooting in derision when you come across procedural mistakes, OK? Think of it as dramatic licenseâ or how about I live in a different state so it's not what you're used to or something. I even know some of the testimony is hearsay. C'monâwork with me here

**Concerned**

Chapter Nine Conclusion 

Dick had gotten back to the Weidman's at four the next morning, tired but calmer after seeing Barbara. They had done more than talk of course because they were both young, but that was what Dick had craved the most—not just the sex they had first, but a soothing and loving friend with whom he could talk about everything that was happening without having to worry about all of his secrets being spilled. She knew them all. She already knew all the stuff he kept to himself and didn't share with anyone except her. She was safe and she had held him afterwards, letting him talk it all away for now. After hours of talk and back and forth and take out food so no one would see them at some restaurant, they stopped talking and made love again before she drove him back to the Weidman's, promising to call him later.

Tom was furious when he finally heard the door but realized that Dick had needed the safety valve he'd used and managed—barely— to contain himself, telling Dick to get some sleep since they had to be up at seven to make it to court by nine. Dick hadn't bothered to mention that he was going anywhere before he left and he and Nancy had been waiting for him all day and most of the night, worried that he'd run away or was hurt somewhere. Tom restrained himself, but it wasn't easy.

Dick was not easy to live with these days.

The pictures, with his face blurred or blacked out in a sop to the privacy laws, had appeared and the press was calling the hearing a retread of the 'poor little rich girl' hearing involving Gloria Vanderbilt decades ago. Dick was being cast as the poor misused orphan and Bruce as the big bad wolf. Reports of the enormous holdings Bruce controlled were bandied about and Dick's own estimated wealth was speculated on. The story of his parent's deaths was brought out again and there was simply no escaping it.

People magazine ran three stories on it, including a cover, and there were plans for an instant dual biography of Bruce and Dick, set to hit the bookstores next week. The author was just waiting for the custody decision so the final chapter could be written. When this was protested as an invasion of privacy, Bruce's lawyers were informed that they were now celebrities and so were public property. Maliscious intent would have to be proved and that would generate more publicity. The matter was dropped.

At eight-forty-five they were driven into the underground garage under the courthouse through the crowd of reporters and film crews and by five to nine they were seated in the courtroom.

There weren't many people there. It was a closed custody hearing and only the interested parties were allowed in due to the fact that Dick was, obviously, a minor.

Like it mattered at this point.

Bruce sat on the left side of the court room with a couple of his lawyers, Dick was on the right with the idiot Olivia Clarke who kept stroking Dick's back and rubbing his arm. He wanted to slap her, but restrained himself. He also wanted to get up and talk to Bruce, but that was so far out of the question as to not even bother trying. Alfred was in a separate room so he wouldn't hear any of the testimony before he spoke. Tom Weidman was also sequestered, Nancy was behind Dick.

Janice Hunt was, once again, the judge. This time she was wearing her robes when they all rose for her entrance. This was for the whole ball of wax and they all knew it.

The judge addressed the court. "Ladies and gentlemen. This is not a trial, this is a custody hearing to determine if Bruce Wayne is a fit foster parent for Richard Grayson, a minor who has been living under Mr. Wayne's care for the last seven years. There have been allegations that abuse against this young man may have occurred and we shall determine if that's true or not. Mr. Rooney, if you would care to begin?"

"Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Wayne, would you please take the stand?" Bruce did so and was sworn. He would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Well, a good chunk of it, anyway.

"Mr. Wayne, please tell us how Richard came to be living with you as your ward?"

"I was attending a charity performance of Haley's circus seven years ago. Two aerialists, they were Dick's parent's, their ropes broke, they fell and were killed. I was horrified and when I learned that he had been remanded to Juvenile Detention until foster care could be found, I offered my home. He's been with me since."

"And why did you offer your home to this particular child? That's a large commitment with a child as distraught as Dick was at the time. Did you know him or his family?"

"No, I didn't know the Grayson's. I identified with him, though. My own parents had been murdered when I was about the same age. Also, shortly after the accident I noticed that Dick was sitting alone in the stands, he was crying and I went over to try to comfort him. I felt sorry for him, of course, but I also felt a bond with him which continues to this day." Dick was looking at Bruce, nodding.

"How old was Dick then?"

"Eight."

"You're unmarried, Mr. Wayne, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Do you see that as a problem in raising a child? Raising him alone, I mean without a mother figure? You are a very busy man with a lot of demands on your time."

"I don't raise him alone. Alfred Pennyworth is there. He's been with my family since before I was born and he raised me after my own parents died. He's more than competent."

"A child, especially a young boy who's been as traumatized as Dick understandably was after his parent's deaths couldn't have been easy to deal with. How large a problem was that?"

"It was difficult, Dick was angry, hurt, mistrustful when he came to us. He suffered from nightmares, he was depressed. He insisted that he wanted to live with his grandfather."

"What did you do?"

"I found the best child psychologists I could, and they helped. In time he began to heal. I also took him to visit his grandfather several times a year."

"Where was that?"

"His grandfather lives in Romania, which is where his father's family is from."

"Dick is considered a member of the culture usually called Gypsy's, isn't he? His father and his grandparents from that side of his family were also, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't he stay with his own, as it were?"

"His grandfather asked me to take him and raise him as he felt I could provide him with more advantages than he would have in a small village, but to promise that he would always be allowed to come back if that was what he wanted. I agreed." A pause for a second. "Dick also calls his grandfather when ever he wants. They are in contact with one another."

"Have you ever missed one of Dick's school events?" Get it out and face it.

"Yes, unfortunately I have. I make as many as I can, but I do miss some. Alfred—Mr. Pennyworth— usually is there if I can't be."

"And he attended a parent/teacher conference in your place?"

"Yes, but I emphasize that Alfred is also raising Dick as well as I am. It's not like I sent a servant to fill my responsibilities for me."

"Have you ever struck Dick?" The big question.

"âOnce, yes."

"When and why did you strike him?"

"About six months ago I learned that Dick had cut school and taken one of my cars. When he showed up at my office I was very angry and I slapped him."

"You struck him quite hard, didn't you? Loosened a couple of his teeth."

"Yes." It hurt Bruce to admit it. He was deeply ashamed about it, humiliated. Livvy Clarke put her arm around Dick's shoulders. He shrugged her off, the bitch.

"Did he tell you why he had done it, cut school and taken the car?"

Bruce looked at Dick apologetically. "He told me that he wanted to see his girlfriend. She lives in Gotham."

"Even though he's underage to drive?"

"Yes."

"Had anything like this ever happened before?"

"No, Dick is generally well behaved. He's almost a straight A student. He's almost never in any kind of trouble."

"Why did this happen, did you ask him?"

"I did. He told me that he was worried about her and wanted to make sure that she was alright."

"Why was he worried about her? Had something happened?"

Bruce was uncomfortable. "Your honor, would it be possible to answer this question in private? To protect Dick?"

The Judge considered for a moment, nodded. The two of them, along with Kevin Rooney and Livvy Clarke adjourned to the judge's chambers.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne?"

"He told me that they had seen each other the weekend before and that the condom broke. She was going to take a home pregnancy test and he said that he'd be there for her when she did. Apparently it was negative."

Janice Hunt wasn't surprised, Dick was obviously older than most kids his age, however, "What did you do when you heard that your fifteen year old ward had been doing what he had?"

"I was angry, but only because he had lied to me about where he was going that Sunday. He'd told me that he was going to play softball with some friends."

"So you're alright with a young man his age having relations?"

"No, I'm not. I think he's too young emotionally and I think he's too attached to this young woman and will end up being hurt, but I'm realistic enough to know that he's more mature than most kids his age and is being responsible. I also know he's not just out for a good time. He does care about this girl and he's known her since he was about ten years old."

"But you still hit him, Mr. Wayne."

"Yes and I've never done it before or since. I was wrong and Dick knows how wrong I was as well as I do. I told him that if it ever—ever happened again he should leave. Alfred would take him wherever he wanted to go and he should get out."

"Is Richard still seeing this young lady?"

"As far as I know, yes he is."

"Thank you, let's go back outside, Mr. Wayne."

Back in the courtroom, the questions continued. "Mr. Wayne. You left Dick alone while you were called to Europe, why would you leave a fourteen year old alone?"

Bruce explained everything about every question, clearly, calmly. "Mr. Wayne, how often do you spend quality time with Dick?" Mr. Wayne, could you please tell us how you attempted to locate Dick's maternal family." "Sir could you explain why you decided on private school for Dick?" "Why did you decide to not actually adopt Dick, but to make him your legal ward?" "Are you aware of the rumors Dick had had to endure about your living with him, alone, in a secluded home, a single man and a young boy?" "Could you give us a brief run down of your holdings and responsibilities?" "In your opinion, does Dick have close friends?" "Do you expect him to follow your career path?"

"If you could, please tell us about Dick's gymnastics."

"He's quite talented. He enjoys them and started when he was quite young. His father began his training when he was about three."

"And Dick worked in his family's circus act until the time of his parent's deaths. He was a trapeze artist, isn't that right? His whole family were trapeze artists and they traveled with a circus for a good part of the year?"

"Yes. But he's also a trained gymnast."

"So it wasn't unusual for him to be practicing routines in the gym in your home, was it?"

"No, he often works out and comes up with new moves and combinations. He's very good."

"Do you usually watch him or assist him when he does this, does anyone spot him or does he work alone?"

"Both. Sometimes I help him or spot him, but sometimes he likes to be alone."

"The night he was injured last month, how did he break his ribs?"

"I wasn't there, but I was told that he was working on the high bar and slipped somehow, hitting his ribs."

"Where were you?"

"Upstairs doing some paperwork."

"Why didn't Dick tell you or Mr. Pennyworth that he was hurt?"

"Dick told me that he thought it wasn't serious and didn't want to bother us."

"Four broken and cracked ribs weren't serious?"

"He told me that didn't think it was that bad."

"What would you have done if you'd known?"

"Taken him to a doctor for treatment."

They went on and on for almost three hours and finally Bruce knew they were at the end. "Mr. Wayne, one final question. Do you love Dick?"

"Dick is my son in every sense of the word other than our sharing a gene pool. I love him very much and I want him to come home."

"Thank you Mr. Wayne." Bruce stood up, walked from the witness stand to his chair next to his lawyers, caught Dick's eye and smiled. Nodding, Dick smiled back.

Alfred's testimony was simple. He got up, wrapped in the natural dignity that was as much a part of him as his skin, told the judge that as far as he was concerned, Dick was his grandson and that he couldn't love or be more proud of the lad if his life depended on it. He said that when Dick came to their house it became a home and they needed him as much as he needed them. He was their life.

Alfred was dismissed.

The picture they were left with was of a happy family, with problems, yes, but basically stable.

Maybe, just maybe they had a chance.

Maybe.

They adjourned for lunch, coming back in ninety minutes later. Dick and Livvy had sandwiches brought in from somewhere. They ate alone in a closed room. Dick read a book, tuning the woman out completely.

Coming back to the hearing, Kevin called a number of character witnesses.

Clark Kent got on the stand and told the judge how he'd met and worked with Mr. Wayne on a number of charity and civic events and he was a good man, devoted to his foster son.

Commissioner Gordon said he was the one who had signed the order to release Dick from JDC because he knew Mr. Wayne would provide him with a good home and nothing had changed his opinion of the man.

Leslie Thompkins talked about how Bruce funded the clinic and she had seen him and Dick together countless times, and they were devoted to one another. She was asked to remain in the courthouse, as she would be asked further questions later.

Lucius Fox talked about what a fine young man Dick was, how happy he usually appeared, and how he was growing into a fine adult. Bruce could be proud of him.

After the lunch break the state told their side of the story.

"Your honor, we would like to have Richard Grayson testify."

Dick got up and was sworn. They would go easy on him, he was a kid and he was upset enough, stoic though he was. No one wanted to cause him any more scars if they could help it.

Of course, sometimes you have to cauterize a wound to let it heal.

One of the faceless attorny's Dick had ignored from the state all month asked him questions. Dick hadn't even bothered to learn the man's name, he was an non entity. "Mr. Wayne has told us how you came to be living with him, Richard. Are you happy there?"

"Yes I am. I want to go home."

"Has Mr. Wayne ever hit you, other than the time he spoke about this morning?"

"No, never, in seven years. And he was really upset about that. He was more upset than I was and Alfred really let him have it. It won't ever have it again."

"Richard, it seems that there are quite a few things you do that you don't tell Mr. Wayne about—your being injured, your girlfriend's problem, are you afraid of him?"

"Bruce? No. I, I'm afraid that I might—I mean, I, I don't want to disappoint him, that's all, but I'm not afraid of Bruce."

"Has he ever disappointed you, though? He misses a lot of your school events, the sort of things you'd expect a parent to attend."

"Well, Bruce isn't like other parents but he's doing alright. I know he has a lot going on. I'm OK with that."

Enough with the happy family stuff.

"Richard, you know we have your computer and we managed to pull some of your conversations with your friends off it."

Dick looked concerned about that. Sure he knew that, he'd been pissed enough when they'd taken the thing. What had he said and whom had he said it to? He didn't remember.

"Take a look at this, it's a conversation from three months ago." It was a print out about when he found out Roy had moved up to heroin. "Do you know if Mr. Wayne is aware that some of your friends use drugs?"

"I don't know. I didn't tell him about it. I don't use, so why would he care?" Even Dick knew that was lame as soon as he said it, Bruce would have ranted about Ollie and forbidden Dick to see Roy again if he'd known. Bruce didn't look too happy right now with the news, in fact.

"What did you do about your friend?"

"I helped him go cold turkey then got him into Hazelton for treatment and rehab."

"When you were fifteen?"

"Well, I'm not stupid. It's not hard to make phone calls."

"Did Mr. Wayne know that you're intimate with your girlfriend, despite being what's described here as 'jailbait'?"

Dick blushed and Janice Hunt looked annoyed. The boy wasn't on trial here and that was supposed to stay in chambers..

"I didn't tell him about that, no."

"But you did tell Mr. Pennyworth?"

"No, Alfred found out when he found some, um, some condoms in my pocket, I didn't tell him. After he found out he talked to me and decided that I could handle it so we, you know—we didn't tell Bruce."

"He would have been angry?"

"I doubt he would have been happy—what do you think?" There was some laughter at that but not from Bruce.

"Richard, you're an athletic young man, but how did you get injured so many times? Could you tell us?"

"You just said it. I do gymnastics, I ski, I snowboard, I ride a motorcycle. Sometimes I get hurt."

"âYou ride a motor cycle? Isn't the legal age for that in this state seventeen?"

Shit, shit, shit.

"On the estate. That's private property."

"You have speeding tickets from New York City, Gotham and Farmington, all within the last two months. We also know you took one of Mr. Wayne's cars when you cut school a few months ago to see your girlfriend."

Caught, Dick just shrugged and Bruce was mad. He hadn't known about the tickets or that Dick was sneaking the Harley out.

Shit, shit, shit.

"So getting back, how do you get hurt, just doing sports and the like?"

"Yes."

"Your Honor, if you would please look at Richard's medical records you'll see that there are over twenty injuries which were treated by Dr. Thompkins, ranging from broken bones to cuts requiring stitches, concussions and injuries which are listed as being caused by fighting—punching, kicking and the like— in just under seven years of his being under her care."

The judge was looking over the list and asked, "Richard, the truth now, how did all this happen? Was someone doing this to you?"

Joker, Catwoman, the usual suspects. He twisted in his seat to face her. "No, I swear. No one. It was me. I'm just clumsy sometimes."

"Richard, you've been trained as an athlete since you were a toddler, I think that's a stretch. Now, who has been hurting you?"

"No one. Honest."

No one believed him.

"I'd like to speak to you privately, please." Dick and the judge went into her chambers.

"Richard, I've been a family court judge for over twenty years and I know you didn't fall off your skis or trip over a gym mat. If it wasn't Bruce, who was it?"

"No one. Bruce only hit me that once, I swear. I just"

"Do you get into fights at school or in your neighborhood or someplace?"

"No."

"And you're sure about this?"

"Yes. No one hits me or anything. They don't."

She stared at him, appraising what he was saying and knowing he was lying but also knowing he wouldn't admit anything. "Alright." They went back into the courtroom.

"I'd like to speak with Dr. Thompkins in chambers, please."

Leslie was escorted back.

"Dr. Thompkins, I know as well as you do that this child didn't receive all these injuries falling off his bike. What's going on here?"

Leslie knew that she'd be asked this and she couldn't think of a decent lie. Even if she could, it could mean the clinic's license, but neither could she tell the truth.

"Your honor, to the absolute best of my knowledge, Bruce Wayne has only struck that boy once and after he did it he wanted to cut off his hand. The other injuries are from accidents. The level of gymnastics he works at makes these things more likely than not—the separated shoulders, the sprains and the rest—they're part and parcel of the moves he practices. I know that he's also a black run skier—when he visits his grandfather in Europe they often ski the Alps together."

"Doctor, please"

"Dick does tend to be a little reckless—he's a teenager and I can't tell you how many times I've talked to him about it, but he simply doesn't listen. He thinks he's indestructible. They all do at his age."

"Twenty separate injuries treated by you in seven years and you believe that they're from his sports activities? I'm not an idiot, Doctor and I'm not new to this. You realize that I can bring you up for license review if I believe you're hiding abuse?"

"Of course I realize that, but I also realize that Bruce loves that boy and Dick loves him back just as much and to separate them would do much more harm than good. When Dick was brought to Bruce after his parent's deaths he was as traumatized as any child I've ever seen and I've dealt with war victims. Bruce and Alfred saved his life."

"Were you aware that Richard is sexually active?"

"He spoke to me about it six months or so ago. I told him to be sure about what he was doing and to use protection. He promised me that he was." Leslie saw the look of disapproval. "Come now, Your Honor, you know as well as I do that it's common enough and I was just happy he felt comfortable enough to talk to me. Dick is a mature young man for his age, he's not flighty. I know he thought about it before he went ahead with it."

That was enough for The Judge right now. "Thank you, Doctor." They returned to the courtroom.

Judge Hunt spoke to Dick. "Richard, do you have anything you'd like to say?"

"I just want to go home. Please. That's all I want. Just let me go home."

"We'll adjourn for thirty minutes while I consider my decision." They all rose, she walked back to her chambers and the people in the courtroom milled around. Dick went straight over to Bruce and they spoke quietly for the first time in a month. Bruce was still in his chair, Dick sitting on the edge of the table.

"God, Bruce, I'm so sorry. I am—this is my fault. If I'd just told you about the ribs or stayed home from school for a couple of days none of this would have happened. I'm so"

"Dick, it's alright. I told you that we'd get through this and we will. You'll see"

"But she thinks"

"It will be fine."

"But Alfred, what he's been through and the pressâGod, I'm so sorry."

"Dick, it's not your fault, stop that. You can't believe that"

"But it is, Bruce. I think I may have a way around it, though. I've had an idea if she takes me away. I think it will work."

"âWhat?"

"You'll see, I think it will."

"Dickâtell me."

"If we have to, if it comes to it, you'll hear about it."

It went on for a while, the two of them talking, trying to assure one another that it would turn out, one way or another, to not be as terrible as the last month had been. Somehow they would pull this off. Somehow.

They were told to rise again, Judge Hunt came back in, they were all seated.

"I've looked at all the evidence that's been presented to me, both here and in background documents and I have tried to come to a fair decision. I believe that Mr. Wayne cares deeply for Richard and it's apparent that Richard cares very much for Mr. Wayne, as well as Mr. Pennyworth. There's no doubt that Richard is well provided for financially and materialistically and he has told me several times that he wishes to remain in Mr. Wayne's care.

"However I'm deeply disturbed by an ongoing pattern of nonchalance regarding Richard's day to day activities. He is apparently able to escape notice when seriously injured. Despite his age he has been left alone for days at a time—even with friends dropping in and calling and the like—he was able to take a car from Mr. Wayne's garage at will, though unlicensed and has accumulated a series of speeding tickets despite being almost two years away from legal driving age. He has also been shown to have friends who are drug abusers and evidently the full nature of his relationship with his girlfriend was kept hidden from Mr. Wayne for several months with Mr. Pennyworth's help. There is also the incident that was witnessed by several people, of Mr. Wayne striking Richard with enough force to loosen teeth.

"Therefore, it is my decision that for his own safety, Richard will be removed from Mr. Wayne's care and his guardianship is hereby revoked and rendered null and void. I further order that no contact be allowed between Richard and Mr. Wayne or any of his employees other than under supervised circumstances.

"Richard will continue to reside with the foster family he has been with for the last month until permanent foster care is found.

"I also extend the gag order in regards to this case. No discussion of these proceedings will be tolerated."

They were asked to rise again.

Janice Hunt stood up and left the room.

Having expected the outcome, Dick was calm and already had his cell phone out. "The decision was just read. File the petition." He looked at Bruce, who had also expected the outcome, but was still stunned by it. How could his have happened? Two months ago everything was fine and now"Bruce? It'll be fine. Just keep cool with it, OK?"

The papers for his legal emancipation were filed twenty minutes later in another room of the courthouse by Dick's attorney. Under the circumstances, they were sealed and the court would try to fit the hearing into the schedule as soon as possible, within a month at the outside. In the meantime Dick would go back to the Weidman's.

The next couple of weeks alternately crawled and flew by in fast-forward until the court date for the emancipation review was in a few days. Dick no longer spent most of his time in his room, he saw Barbara often and the Weidman's thought she was a lovely and intelligent girl, if too old for him. Amber was intimidated by the older woman and stayed away, knowing that she wasn't ready to play in the big leagues. At least Dick was more polite now, though. He wasn't as tense and he was more pleasant to be around. He still went out at night, usually with Barbara, but would be back by one or so.

She kept him informed about Bruce's doings and the Bat was flying again. Dick was glad to hear it; Alfred must have been going nuts with Bruce hanging around all the time.

Neither Tom nor Nancy questioned him too closely, though he promised them he wasn't doing anything illegal. Hey did not petition the court for his guardianship. After having discussed it at length, they had decided that Dick was more of a challenge than they were willing to take on.

Dick also stopped going to school for now, with everyone's agreement. The media crush was still out of control and there had been kidnap threats after Dick's net worth was leaked. The police were forced to station a squad car outside the Weidman's until Bruce intervened and hired private security to spare the taxpayers. The police gratefully accepted his help and said they were there if needed.

Dick was basically home schooled with little enthusiasm for now, believing it was only temporary.

He spoke to his lawyer several times a week.

His other friends now felt free to contact him as well and Wally, Donna and Roy stopped by with pizza and Chinese a few times. The Weidman's liked these kids—at least they were his age and he laughed with them. Barbara was never there when the other kids were. There seemed to be some awkwardness between them.

Dick avoided going to the Manor. It would be too painful with the end result still undecided and while he wanted to go home and missed Alfred and Bruce desperately, he knew he was pinning his hopes on one chance that might not pan out. He didn't want to start believing it might work only to get stomped if it didn't. He'd been stomped too often to get his hoped up too high.

The next Tuesday he walked into the courthouse again to hear the answer to his petition.

The judge this time was a middle-aged man who had a rep as a hard nose, and with cause.

"I've read your petition, Mr. Grayson and in my opinion, you have failed to demonstrate to me that you have the maturity or the experience to live on your own. You have never lived alone or shown any proof you are equipped to do so beyond a large bank account. You do not have a driver's license yet you have managed to gather yourself three moving violations. You have not attended school for the last month yet you have not engaged a tutor or come up with a home schoolteacher. Your petition is denied and I suggest that you make peace with the fact that you are a minor and will remain so until your next birthday."

So that was it.

Back at Weidman's he told them the verdict and they immediately told him he could stay with them as long as he wanted—until he found a permanent family.

He had one more idea.

One more call in the privacy of the swing in the park. "Barbara? Look, I know this is going to sound insane, but hear me out"

Three days later another petition was filed in family court. This one was approved.

Richard John Grayson was remanded into the foster custody of James Gordon. Gotham's Police Commissioner. The papers would be final about the time of Dick's sixteenth birthday.

The End.

8/2/04

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